


Tales From The Sand

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 175,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon raised by Ashara, is he a sand or a snow? Or is he something more, much more than that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He can still remember the sight of Princess Elia and her children’s bodies at the foot of the Iron Throne. He can still remember how mangled baby Aegon’s head was- smashed in beyond- recognition. He can still remember the look of perverse satisfaction on Robert’s face as Tywin Lannister laid the bodies at the foot of throne as proof of his loyalty. He can still remember arguing with Robert for days on end about how the princess and her children’s deaths were unnecessary, were barbaric. He remembers Robert claiming that Lya would never wish to look upon the Dragonspawn once she became his queen, he remembered arguing- no shouting- at Robert that Lyanna would more than likely be horrified that Robert had condoned such an atrocity, had essentially climbed over the dead princess and her children’s bodies to claim his throne. Silently he added that perhaps when Lya came back she might also be carrying ‘Dragonspawn’ with her, if his suspicions were correct.

It came as a relief then when the missive came from Starfall indicating where Lyanna had been kept by Rhaegar throughout the war. He rode with six companions first to Storm’s End to lift the siege there and to get the Tyrells and their bannermen to dip their banners. Then after a month’s hard riding they finally came to Dorne, the desert homeland of Princess Elia. In a tower far from the battle, far from the fighting, he found three of the finest knights of the Kingsguard standing in front of the tower, preventing him from rescuing his sister. They fought fiercely, they thought honourably, but at the end of it all they still died, the Kingsguard and five of his companions all dead. He rushed up the tower but was too late to save his sister, Lyanna Stark died in a bed of blood with a crown of blue roses in one hand and a promise on her lips.

Ned took the babe from her, unsure of what he was going to do, how he was going to explain the babe. He rode to Starfall; first to give Lady Ashara Dawn, and her brother back, three horses rode out to Starfall. When they arrived the castle was in a state of mourning, of course they would be the whole of Dorne would be in mourning, for they had lost their princess, lost her to the cold hearted deviance of a man known as a lion, and to her husband’s madness. When he meets Ashara Dayne he sees a speck of the woman she was before Harrenhal, grief and motherhood have worn into her, have drawn thick lines into her forehead, though her violent eyes still look hauntingly beautiful, the laughter seems to have died in them.

She says nothing when he hands her dawn, and offers his condolences. But when the babe- Jon he has decided to call him- begins to fuss, she perks up and speaks. “He’s Rhaegar’s child, isn’t he?”

Ned is unsure how to reply, he has a lie half formed on his lips, when she presses a finger to his mouth and says, “Do not think of lying to me Lord Eddard. You were not good at lying at Harrenhal, and I doubt you would have improved since then. The boy is Rhaegar’s and your sister’s.”

Ned simply nods, helpless and unsure of what to say or do now. She always knew how to see past him, even when they danced at Harrenhal. “What will you do with him? You can’t very well bring him back to King’s Landing with you can you? Your friend King Robert will kill him.”

Ned wants to argue with her, wants to shout that Robert is a better man than that. But he knows deep down, in his heart of hearts that when it comes to Targaryens Robert is as mad as Aerys was about them. He is silent for a moment before he speaks. The words coming out as nothing more than a whisper. “I mean to claim him as my own.”

Ashara laughs then. “Oh Ned, dearest Ned. You’re intentions are honourable no doubt. But what of your Tully Wife, what will she have to say when you bring the boy home, and claim him as your own. She will never understand why you did it, will she Ned? No better to leave him here with me, where he will be safe and protected.”

He is stunned by the suggestion. “My lady, I couldn’t no. He is my responsibility. I promised Lya.”

Ashara looks at him then with a look she gave him once at Harrenhal. “Yes that’s all very well and good, but if Lyanna and Rhaegar had had more sense, you wouldn’t have had to make any promises, and you wouldn’t have to lie. No leave the boy here with me, Ned. Here at least he will know he is loved and cared for. And besides, he can grow up besides our daughter also.”

Ned swallows and feels his heart sink in his chest. “Ashara,” he begins meaning to beg her to see sense.

But she shakes her head stubbornly. “No Ned, leave the boy here, let him grow up loved and cared for. Let him grow up with his cousin, with our daughter Ned. You can go back to Winterfell with your Tully wife and your children with her. Let me stay here, let our daughter stay here. Let the world think that the two of them are mine, they whisper that it was Brandon who bedded me at Harrenhal, let them believe it. From now on your Lya’s boy is mine and Brandon’s bastard son, just as our daughter is mine and Brandon’s bastard daughter. I won’t let you smirch your name for some foolish cause, nor shall I let you take my daughter away from me.”

He wants to argue with her, he wants to make her see that their daughter would be well loved for and cared at Winterfell just as Jon would be, though he knows somewhere deep down that that could never be. So instead he swallows deeply and says, “Very well then. But when they are eight, they will come and foster with me and mine at Winterfell. I will do as you say Ashara, but please I promised Lya I would protect her boy.”

Ashara merely nods then, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, and he desperately wants to go and comfort her but he knows that that is no longer his place. He has a wife now, and he must do right by her, he must. So he stands up to leave, passing Jon to Ashara, and just before he leaves though he says to her, “His name is Jon. Lya’s boy.” He hears Ashara say something in response, and then he has mounted his horse and has ridden on back north with Howland. A thousand thoughts whirring in his head.

Howland is a silent companion for the whole ride north, the only time they speak is when they discuss where to make camp for the night. He had sent a raven from Starfall before leaving informing Robert of Lyanna’s death, and that same night swore Howland to secrecy about Lya’s boy. When he enters the courtyard in Winterfell, he feels a deep ache begin to bloom in his chest, as he remembers similar entrances made when he would come back from the Vale, those times his father, his mother, Brandon, Lya and Benjen would all be in the courtyard waiting for him, with a hug a smile or a playful smack on the back. This time though, Winterfell is bleak and full of ghosts, he wanders the castle feeling empty, drowning in memories. There are times when he is alone with Benjen and the two of them reminisce about times long since passed, he tells Benjen about Jon, and his daughter Jeyne, though he tells Benjen that they are both Brandon’s bastards by Ashara, even though the lie grates on him, and he tells Benjen that they will be coming to foster at Winterfell when they are eight. Benjen nods his acceptance and then tells him that he wishes to take the black. Ned nods his acceptance, all the while crying inside for it feels like his pack is breaking up all around him and there is nothing he can do to stop it from happening.

He has been in Winterfell for a moon when his wife arrives. She arrives with their son, whom she informs him is called Robb, and he feels something beginning to bloom inside of him when he looks at his son’s face, something that feels akin to hope. Once she has been settled in and has been in Winterfell for a few days, he plucks up the courage one day to speak with her about the children in the south. He means to tell his wife the truth but instead finds himself speaking the lie, and he hates himself for it. “My lady,” he begins, his resolve beginning to falter as he watches Catelyn put her brush down and turn round to look at him. He swallows and goes on. “There is something you need to know,” she remains silent, he swallows once more and goes on. “As much as it pains me to say this, Brandon was not faithful to your betrothal. He has two children with Ashara Dayne. They live in Starfall. A boy called Jon and a girl called Jeyne. I met them when I came back from the south.” He hopes she will not ask him about his time in the south, for he does not think that he could bear to go on if she did.

Catelyn merely looks at him before asking, “There is nothing more is there, my lord?”

He shakes his head and then says. “I asked for them to be sent here for fostering when they turn eight. I wish to know my brother’s children. I hope that is ok with you my lady.”

Catelyn smile then and says, “Of course my lord, it is only right.”

He smiles at her then. Thankful that she has accepted what he has had to say without too much complaint. He receives updates on how his nephew and niece- daughter- are doing every moon, their progress written in Ashara’s flowing handwriting that he knows so well from letters past, and he feels something like pain stab him, though he also feels guilt, knowing that they are being well looked after and cared for. He waits for the day when he can look them in the eye and welcome them to their home. As he watches his own children with Catelyn grow he waits for the day when he can see them all of them at play.

And he prays to the old gods, that they never know the suffering that he and his siblings did. 

* * *

**Ashara**

She watches Eddard Stark ride out of Starfall with his companion the cranongmen Howland Reed, and she feels like a part of her is being ripped apart inside. She knows it is for the best, it is for the best if Jon Targaryen becomes Jon Sand and grows up with his cousin- sister- Jeyne Sand, she knows it is better if the world thinks they are Brandon Stark’s children. It will be much safer for Jon, and will at least mean that Jeyne knows something of her father, though of course Brandon Stark never laid with her at Harrenhal. No he introduced her to his shyer, quieter and much less handsome brother Eddard Stark. At first she had been curious, she had danced with Ned for most of the night, and afterwards had invited him back to her room, he had of course declined, and that had only piqued her interest further. She spent the rest of the tournament pursuing him and trying to win him over, until finally the day before the jousting and the day before everything went to pot, she managed to finally break Ned’s iron discipline, and she brought him to her bed.

Oh it had been a lovely feeling and sensation, though afterwards she had thought it just a onetime thing. But then he had slowly wormed his way into her heart, he wrote to her constantly and at first she had only written back to him out of courtesy, but then she wrote to him simply because she wished to, and then because she couldn’t go a day without writing to him, for he was always in her thoughts, and then she realised she was pregnant. Then she was worried, for Rickard and Brandon Stark had already been killed and the rebellion had already begun, she knew she could not write to him for any ravens would be intercepted and so she had maintained her silence throughout, and then when she heard that he had wed Catelyn Tully in his brother’s place, she had wept and wept, and only Elia’s soothing words had managed to calm her. Arthur had escorted her back to Starfall before he had been sent with the Lord Commander to find Rhaegar, and so she had given birth in Starfall.

She and Ned’s daughter looked exactly like her, dark brown hair and violet eyes, but her smile, her persona was all Ned. She was a quiet baby, as was Jon. She watched as her daughter and her adopted son grew, and she felt herself swell with pride as she watched Jeyne and then Jon hot on her heels take their first steps together, she felt herself cry tears of happiness when both of their first words were “mother”. She watches as her children grow up close to her sister Allyria, and her nephew Edric.  She watches them play with each other, and then when they visit the Water Gardens she watches them play with Doran and Oberyn’s children and she feels her heart swell with love.

Allem, Doran, Oberyn and Ellaria help she thinks. Oberyn it seems is particularly understanding of the situation she finds herself in, though of course he knows not the truth of either of her child’s parentage, only Allem knows and he knows not to speak of it openly. So she finds herself worrying when Oberyn tells her that Doran wishes to see her. Doran’s illness has slowly been getting worse, it had been present before the rebellion but since Elia’s death and the subsequent uproar caused by it his health had been slowly failing. But he still was an imposing man and not one to underestimate despite what the Lannisters and Robert Baratheon might think.

He was seated on a chair overlooking the water gardens and the children at play. Areo Hotah his guard stood in the shadows behind him. “Ashara, it has been a long time since you played there has it not.”

“Yes my prince it has. I used to play there with Oberyn and Elia.” She replied cautiously.

“Yes so it has. Tell me Ashara, have you thought about perhaps sending Jon to squire for Oberyn? It would be an invaluable experience I’m sure.”

She swallows nervously before saying. “Whilst it would be an honour for Jon to squire for Oberyn my prince, Jon will be going with Jeyne to Winterfell very soon to foster there and to get to know his cousins a bit better.”

Doran sighs and says “Of course, forgive me. I’m forgetting more and more with my old age. Very well then, I wish Jon and Jeyne the best.”

“Thank you my prince.” She says as she bows and walks out.

It feels like the years truly have flown by when she gets into the wheelhouse with Jeyne, Allyria and Edric with Jon and Allem riding on horseback and Jeyne’s sworn sword Arthur riding on horseback as well. Exactly eight years to the day that she last saw Eddard Stark and now she and her family ride to Winterfell so that Jon and Jeyne can be fostered there, she feels a pit of nerves beginning to grow in her stomach, she looks out of the wheelhouse to where Jon sits and he smiles at her, that cheeky smile that reminds her so much of Ned’s smile it almost breaks her heart, and then their journey begins.

They stop off at various inns and keeps along the way to Winterfell, at one point they stop at the Twins and are greeted most hostilely by  Walder Frey, who makes countless insults and poor timed japes about Dornishmen and their promiscuity. Only Allem and Arthur’s calming presence restrains Jon and Jeyne and Allyria from lashing out at the old man. When they leave the Twins to begin the journey north, Ashara makes sure to tell Allem to book passage on a ship for their return journey.

Winterfell appears on the horizon two weeks after they set out from the Twins and Ashara feels a lump begin to settle in her throat, this should have been hers not Catelyn Tully’s all of it. But she can’t think of that now, so instead she puts on a brave face, and helps introduce herself and her family to the Starks of Winterfell. Ned is the same as ever, gruff and somber, his wife Catelyn Tully is all fiery red hair and beautiful, Robb Stark the heir to Winterfell looks like his mother except more masculine and little Sansa Stark looks exactly like a miniature version of her mother. Arya Stark is the only one of the Stark children to look like Ned, even at two she seems to be a fierce thing with lots of life, Ashara remembers another Stark girl who was also as fierce and how that ended with a bed of blood, and a broken promise, she shakes the thoughts from her head to prevent them from taking root.

She and Allem watch from the high table during the feast as Jon and Jeyne nervously speak with Robb and Theon Greyjoy, Ned’s ward from the Greyjoy Rebellion. Jeyne was born smaller than a normal baby and as such suffers from ill health, she is frail, just like Elia was and just like Elia, she has a brother who is fiercely protective of her. Jon nearly hits Theon Greyjoy in the nose when the boy says something about Jeyne’s frail health, and she and Allem share a knowing look, though she can tell from the expression on Ned’s face that some memory must have been stirred up at the scene.

Overall their time in Winterfell is pleasant albeit a little awkward, for the north and Dorne will never truly recover from what Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark did. Though before she leaves her children for what could possibly be the last time, she speaks with Jon the night before they are set to leave.

“You wanted to see me mama?” Jon asks, and Ashara can tell he is impatient to go off and play with Robb and Theon.

She smiles then and brushes back a loose curl from his forehead. “Yes I did Jon,” she pauses and then takes a deep breath before going on. “I just want you to know how proud I am of you and of Jeyne. I know that this might seem very scary, but I want you to know that you will be fine, and if you ever, every need anything I am only a raven’s letter away, and I will come.”

Jon looks at her through his curls, and she can swear she sees a little of the Targaryen in his eyes, they seem momentarily purple in the light. She continues, “I want you and Jeyne to look after each other okay. Don’t leave each other alone. You are strongest when together ok sweetling.”

Jon nods and says “Ok mama.”

She smiles and kisses him on his brow and then says “Goodnight Jon.”

The next day she, Allem, Allyria and Edric ride back for Starfall leaving Jon, Jeyne and Arthur behind.

 

 

 


	2. Merciless Times

**Varys**

He had been in King’s Landing for neigh on twenty years now. He had first come to King’s Landing to serve King Aerys the second, after Duskendale Aerys had been convinced that his own shadow was out to get him, and so having heard of a man across the narrow sea with a penchant for gathering secrets and information had him sent for. And so Varys had arrived in King’s Landing the capital city of Westeros all those years ago and had set to work. It had taken him some time to get into the King’s good graces, but once he had Aerys listened to his whispers and council more frequently than he did his own hand, the mighty Tywin Lannister. It had been on Varys’ suggestion that Aerys had married Prince Rhaegar to Elia Martell, the better to strengthen ties to a kingdom that had been part of the royal family before. Of course Varys could not have foreseen how frail and sickly Princess Elia truly was, she only managed to give Prince Rhaegar two children, and Prince Aegon was born during his father’s absence from the capital, whilst he was away with the Stark Girl.

Rhaegar died on the Trident and Aerys panicked, he refused to send Princess Elia and her children to Dorne where they would be safe, instead he kept them close by as hostages, and when Tywin Lannister was knocking on the gates, for the first time since Varys had been in his service Aerys ignored his advice and followed the advice of that turncoat Pycelle and opened the gates, and of course the rest as they say is history. Tywin Lannister sacked the city, and had his men butcher Princess Elia and Princess Rhaenys. The man and the rest of Westeros believed that Prince Aegon had been killed by Gregor Clegane, but Varys knew that was a lie, for when news of the Trident had reached the city, Princess Elia had come and found him and begged him to protect her son, and so he had, he found a pisswater prince in the slums of Flea Bottom and bought him from his father for a jug of Arbor Gold, and then brought that pisswater prince into the Red Keep, and had Aegon smuggled across the narrow sea with Varys’ own sister to Pentos and to a waiting Illyrio Mopatis.

He had of course been pardoned by King Robert when he ascended the throne, along with the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan Selmy and Pycelle, though if Varys had had his way Pycelle would be rotting on a spike on the walls of the Red Keep. With a new reign had come new players, Tywin Lannister happy now that his daughter was queen and that his grandson would be king returned to the Rock. Robert Baratheon made Jon Arryn his hand, and with Jon Arryn soon came Petyr Baelish. Now Jon Arryn epitomised his house words, he carried out his dealings honourably and without a hint of deceit, he skilfully managed to negotiate a peace with Dorne when they were calling for blood, but he lacked the skills to effectively play the game and for that he was paying the price. Baelish, the man was cunning by half and smart as well, he knew the game and how to play it, he was carrying out an illicit affair with the Hand’s wife right under the man’s nose, and kept Jon Arryn none the wiser. Cersei Baratheon, was more Lannister than ever, she played the game well but had little patience to truly nurture the seeds that she planted and for that she would be found out and dealt with in due time.

When word reached him through his little birds that Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon had been seen walking the streets of King’s Landing together, he knew that they were discovering the truth of Cersei’s children’s heritage, that they were in fact the Kingslayer’s and not Robert’s. Varys had found out the truth long ago, when Princess Myrcella came out with the same golden locks as her mother, Pycelle knew of course, but the man was so deep in Tywin Lannister’s pockets that he would never, ever say a word to Robert. Baelish found out later of course, but also said nothing to Robert or to Jon Arryn about it, to suit his own ends. And Varys, he did not tell Robert Baratheon the truth, for what good would the word of a former Targaryen loyalist do to prove anything against the Queen and the might of Casterly Rock. No he laid subtle hints along the way for Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon to follow and to find, it was he who suggested that he read a book by Maester Mullion about the lineages of the Great Houses knowing that he would find the confirmation that he was looking for. Then the man fell ill, and Varys suspected that perhaps Cersei Lannister had played her hand early, it made no matter he would adjust his plans, if war was to come he would be ready, he would make sure the rightful king was ready.

He kept an eye on Viserys and Danaerys, they may have wandered across the Free Cities no better than common beggars, but Varys always made sure that they had food and shelter, and that the hired assassins that Robert sent after them always entered the city after they had left. He knew it was too risky to have them meet with Aegon whilst Viserys was still alive, for the innocent boy whom Varys remembered from King’s Landing had become mad, insanely mad during his time in exile and would more than likely kill his nephew, so Varys was determined that Viserys had to die before Aegon could meet the rest of his family.

He had also been keeping an eye on Dorne since the rebellion; he knew that that kingdom still seethed with the injustice. Prince Oberyn had tried to get Dorn to rise up in rebellion for Prince Viserys, but his older brother Prince Doran had a cooler head and had prevailed, it had been Prince Doran and not Prince Oberyn who had negotiated the peace with Jon Arryn. Though it had been Prince Oberyn who had gone to Bravos to negotiate a marriage pact between Viserys and Arianne Martell. Varys knew this and yet he kept it close to his chest, it would do no good for Robert to know, the man hungered for war, he had not fought a battle since the Greyjoy rebellion and yet still mourned his lady Lyanna, he had become a shadow of the man he had been during the rebellion, and yet Varys knew that the man had to die, but not too soon, if Aegon was to ever reclaim the throne for Robert had the undying loyalty of the north, and with it the Riverlands and the Vale. Joffrey however, did not.

* * *

**Robb**

The summer snows were falling in Winterfell, had been falling for some days now. Robb did not truly mind, after all it gave him something else to think about other than his upcoming nuptials. It was not that he did not like Alys Karstark, he liked her well enough, she was pretty and she was funny, it was just that he knew that this was sign that he was becoming a man, and he was not so sure he was ready to give up on his childhood just yet.

He heard a knock on the door, and said for whoever it was to come in. His cousin Jon entered the room. Robb smiled at him, since Jon had arrived with his sister Jeyne at the age of eight, the three of them had become quite close. Robb had enjoyed having a boy his own age to play with, had enjoyed trading japes and stories with Jon and Theon, and had been happy that Sansa had someone to play with and follow as well in Jeyne. Of course Sansa had turned into a right little lady since those days and now spent most of her time sewing and doing other ladylike pursuits with Septa Mordane, and so it had fallen to Arya to take to following he, Jon and Theon around. Jeyne because of her frail health spent most of the time with Sansa sewing, though Robb knew she hated it.

“You look grim Stark. Come on I’m sure Lady Alys isn’t that bad.” Jon said.

“Ah Sand, you don’t know the half of it.” Robb joked.

He saw Jon give one of his rare smiles, and heard him reply. “Are you nervous Robb?”

“Aye,” Robb said, it was true he was very nervous.

Jon grinned at him then, and he knew some jape was about to come out of his cousin’s mouth. “Well you shouldn’t be. All that time you spent with her the last time she was here, I think you’re both more than knowledgeable of what you’ll have to do when the time comes.” Robb blushed and cursed at his cousin, causing Jon to laugh uproariously.

Once Jon had finished laughing, he turned serious and asked. “But seriously how are you doing?”

Robb smiled, it was just like Jon to worry about others, putting everyone else’s concerns before his own. “I’m good Jon, truly I am. How’s Jeyne doing?” Jeyne had fallen ill a few days past and they were worried that she might not be able to attend the wedding, or worse she might not even be able to get out of bed in time for when her and Jon’s mother came to visit.

Robb saw Jon’s body tense, as it so often did when talk turned to Jeyne, his cousin was very, very protective of his sister. Robb remembered once when they had been no older than Arya was now, Jon had broken some stable boy’s jaw, because the stable boy had made a joke about Jeyne’s frail health. The boy had been dismissed from Winterfell, and Jon had been reprimanded by Robb’s father and mother, though secretly Robb knew that they both approved of what Jon had done. Jon sighed. “She’s getting better; this illness was harder on her than it should have been. Luwin says that she should be fine and should be up and about in time for the wedding though.”

Robb smiled reassuringly at Jon, “That’s good then isn’t it?”

Jon merely grunted. “I hope so, or I may need to have words with Luwin.”

They both shared a laugh at that, though they both knew that if something did happen to Jeyne, Jon would be distraught and would more than likely blame himself for it even though it wouldn’t be his fault.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and early, the whole of the north had come to see the son of the Ned marry, and so Winterfell was filled to bursting. The Karstarks had been the first to arrive of course, Alys Robb’s betrothed had simply glided into the great hall, and Robb had felt himself growing oddly flustered in her presence, something that had caused Jon and Theon to jape about constantly, since. Next had come the Umbers, the giants of Last Hearth, bellowing about this and that, then had come the Boltons, Roose and his household, his bastard was not welcome, then the Hornwoods, the Manderlys, the Cerwyns, and the mountain clans. The last to come from Dorne, Jon and Jeyne’s mother Lady Ashara with their cousin Edric Dayne the new Lord of Starfall.

Robb was stood by the heart tree in the godswood dressed in his house colours of grey, when he saw Alys walking in on the arm of her father the gruff Rickard Karstark, she looked lovely, truly she did, and Robb felt the nerves begin to grow within him, soon he would be a married man. As her father led her up to the heart tree and left her to stand beside him, she flashed him a warm smile that Robb returned. Then they both turned to face the heart tree and Robb’s father.

Lord Eddard was a solemn man by nature, though he loved his children and his niece and nephew dearly, and the pride in his voice could be heard as he began the wedding prayer. “We are gathered here today, to witness the uniting of two people, to see them bonded in the oldest and purest of traditions If there is any here who believe that this union should not happen, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.” A moment’s silence, then Lord Eddard went on. “Who comes?”

Rickard Karstark stepped forward then and said “Alys of House Karstark. Who claims her?”

Robb stood forward and in as bold a voice as he could manage said. “Robb of House Stark comes to claim her.”

Lord Eddard turned to them both then and said, “Marriage is a sacred bond between a man and his wife. Do you both swear to love and care for each other, to protect each other to the best of your abilities from this day, till the day you die?”

“I do,” they said in unison.

“Do you swear it by Ice? Do you swear it by fire? Do you swear it by the old gods and the new?”

“I do.” They replied.

“Then I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss.”

Robb leaned down and brought Alys’ face closer to his, and then brought his lips to hers. It was not the first time they had kissed, but it was the first time that they could do so in the open, and so Robb couldn’t help it if he held the kiss for longer than perhaps was strictly appropriate, drawing many cat calls and wolf whistles, from some of the young men in attendance. They broke apart after a space, and then led the party back into the hall for the wedding feast, and then the bedding to come.

* * *

**Bran**

_The morning dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father and his brother and cousin to see the king’s justice done. It was the ninth year of summer, and the seventh of Bran’s life._

_The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall. It made Bran’s skin prickle to think of it. He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half human children._

_But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king’s justice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He had lost both ears and a finger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night’s Watch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy._

_The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as his lord father had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them. Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses, with Bran between them on his pony, trying to seem older than seven, trying to pretend he’d seen all this before. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice white field._

_Bran’s father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him seem older than his thirty five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken father’s face off, Bran thought and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell._

_There were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but afterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally, his lord father gave a command and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the centre of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. “Ice” that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man‘s hand and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian Steel, spell forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held and edge like Valyrian Steel._

_His father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.” He lifted the greatsword high above his head._

_Bran’s cousin Jon Sand moved closer. “Keep the pony well in hand,” he whispered. “And don’t look away. Uncle Ned will know if you do.”_

_Bran kept his pony well in hand and did not look away. His father took the man’s head off with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine . One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting. Bran could not take his eyes off the blood. The snows around the stump drank it eagerly, reddening as he watched._

_Later as they rode back to Winterfell through the woods, Bran found himself speaking with his cousin Jon. “Do you still wish to take the black Jon? Knowing that that man spoke of wights and others?” He shivered involuntarily._

_His cousin chuckled and said. “Yes Bran, I still wish to take the black. There is honour in serving the Night’s Watch and besides the man was a deserter and delusional, there are no wights and no white walkers.” With that Bran watched as his cousin spurred his horse forward and raced after Robb and Theon Greyjoy._

_He was so deep in thought that he did not hear the rest of the party ride up until his father moved up beside him. “Are you well Bran?” he asked, not unkindly._

_“Yes, father,” Bran told him. He looked up. Wrapped in his furs and leathers on his great warhorse, his lord father looked like a giant. “Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.”_

_“What do you think?” his father asked._

_Bran thought about it for a moment then asked. “Can a man still be brave if he is afraid?”_

_“That is the only time a man can be brave.” Was his father’s solemn response._

_They saw Jon riding up fast toward them, he stopped his horse just short of them and said “Bran, Uncle come quickly. You have to see what we’ve found.”_

_And so they followed Jon, riding until they were deep into the forest, the rest of the party following them. And there deep in the forest, they found Robb and Theon standing over a creature, that looked like a wolf, but was bigger than any wolf Bran had ever seen before, and it had a stag’s antler jutting through its chest. Bran tore his gaze away from the creature and gave a cry of delight when he saw the bundle in Robb’s arms. “Go on,” Robb told him. “You can touch him.”_

_Arguments soon broke out when Bran’s lord father came, mutterings of how strange it was to see a direwolf south of the wall, of how the bitch had whelped pups, but whether or not the pups would survive or not was never truly discussed, until Theon tried to yank the pup Bran had in his hand out of his hand. Jon spoke then, “Lord Stark,” it was strange to hear call father that, so formal. “There are five pups,” he told father. “Three male, two female.”_

_“What of it Jon?”_

_“You have five children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. Your children were meant to have these pups my lord.”_

_Lord Eddard regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. “I will nurse him myself father,” he promised. “I will soak a towel with warm milk and give him suck from that.”_

_“Me too!” echoed Bran._

_The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. “Easy to say and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?”_

_Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, licked at his face with a warm tongue._

_“You must train them as well,” their father said. “You must train them. The kennelmaster will have nothing to do with these monsters I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalise them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man’s arm off his shoulders as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?”_

_“Yes father.” Bran said._

_“Yes,” Robb agreed._

_“The pups may die anyway, despite all you do.”_

_“They won’t die,” Robb said. “We won’t let them die.”_

_“Keep them then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It’s time we were back to Winterfell.”_

_It was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste the sweet air of victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against him, safe for the long ride home. Bran was wondering what to name him._

_Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly._

_“What is it Jon? Bran’s lord father asked._

_“Can’t you hear it?”_

_Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else._

_“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them smiling._

_“They must have crawled away from the others.” Jon said._

_“Or been driven away,” Bran’s father said, looking at the two direwolf pups, one’s fur was white, his eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. The other was a sandy yellow colour , with eyes that were as black as midnight. Bran thought it curious that these pups alone would have opened their eyes while the others were still blind._

_“An albino and a sickly pup,” Theon said with wry amusement. “They’ll die even faster than the others.”_

_Jon gave the ward a long, chilling look. “I think not, Greyjoy.” He said. “They belong to me and Jeyne.”_

* * *

**Catelyn**

_Catelyn watched from the yard as her children and her niece and nephew played with their wolves. The boys had come back from the execution not as grim nor as quiet as she had come to expect, the reason for that she had soon found out. They had brought direwolf pups back with them, according to Maester Luwin these were the first Direwolves to be seen south of the wall in nigh on two hundred years._

_The children’s excitement had been a joy to behold, they had each quickly chosen a direwolf, Robb’s Greywind was as grey as his name suggested, Sansa had called hers lady, Arya named hers Nymeria after the warrior queen earning a smile from Lady Ashara, Bran was still unsure what to name his and was going through various names and trying to find the right one, Rickon had named his Shaggydog, Jon had named his albino Direwolf Ghost and Jeyne had named her sandy coloured direwolf Sandy._

_She watched her children play with their cousins, next to her Lady Ashara Jon and Jeyne’s mother sat and watched them play as well. Ashara had come with her nephew for Robb’s wedding to Alys Karstark a week past. She had only been to Winterfell once before, six years ago to leave Jon and Jeyne in Winterfell for fostering, though of course no date had been set for when the children would return to Starfall. Catelyn did not mind the children’s presence in Winterfell, for one thing she thought that it was good that her own children knew their cousins, for another it was good that they had someone to play with other than each other, though she could not help but think of Jon and think of what she had heard of Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton’s Bastard who had it was rumoured killed his own true born brother Domeric a few years ago. She knew that perhaps she was being irrational and unfair to Jon, for he was a good lad, nice and kind, but she could not stop the fear that perhaps one day when he got older he would try and claim Winterfell from Robb, after all he was older than Robb, by a few months and Brandon had been the older sibling._

_She was taken from her thoughts when one of the helpers gave her a letter, she noticed that it bore the royal sigil, curious as to what it could be she broke the letter open and read it quickly. She glanced at her children playing the courtyard and then excused herself from Lady Ashara’s company, and made her way to the godswood, Ned would need to know of the news that had come._

_She had never truly liked the godswood. She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across twinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers._

_The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years, as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armoured in grey green needles of might oaks of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove dense canopy overhead and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names._

_But she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he took a man’s life he would seek the quiet of the godswood. Sure enough she found him sitting on a rock facing the heart tree, cleaning Ice with a wet cloth and brush. When he noticed her presence they talked for a while about other things, such as how well Bran had done during the execution, about the children and their direwolves, and how they would soon need begin preparing the harvest for winter was soon to come. They also spoke about Jon and Jeyne, and how Jon wished to take the black and how Ashara and Jeyne were trying to convince him otherwise, though little reward._

_Once that was done, Catelyn breached the actual reason for her visit to a place she did not often care for. She took her husband’s hand. “There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself.” There was no way to soften the blow so she told him straight. “I am so sorry my love. Jon Arryn is dead.”_

_His eyes found hers and she could see how hard it took him, as she had known it would. In his youth Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a second father him and his fellow ward, Robert Baratheon. When the mad king Aerys II Targaryen had demanded their heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had raised his moon and falcon banners in revolt rather than give up those he had pledged to protect._

_And one day fifteen years ago, this second father had become a brother as well, as he and Ned stood together in the sept at Riverrun to wed two sisters, the daughters of Lord Hoster Tully._

_“Jon...” he said. “Is this news certain?”_

_“It was the king’s own seal, and the letter is in Robert’s own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger for long in pain.”_

_“That is some small mercy I suppose.” He said. She could see the grief on his face, but even the he thought of her first. “Your sister, and Jon’s boy. What word of them?”_

_“The message said only that they were well and had returned to the Eyrie. I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband’s place not hers. Lord Jon’s memory will haunt each stone. I know my sister. She needs the comfort of family and friends around her.”_

_“Your uncle waits in the Vale does he not? Jon named him knight of the gate. I’d heard.”_

_Catelyn nodded. “Brynden will do what he can for her, and for the boy. That is some comfort, but still...”_

_“Go to her,” Ned urged. “Take the children. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and laughter. That boy of hers needs other children about him, and Lysa should not be alone in her grief.”_

_“Would that I could,” she said. “The letter had other tidings. The king is riding to Winterfell to seek you out.”_

_It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. “Robert is coming here?” When she nodded a smile broke across his face._

_Catelyn wished she could share his joy. But she had heard the talk in the yards; a direwolf dead in the snow, a broken antler in its chest. Dread coiled in her like a snake, but she forced herself to smile, this man she loved put no faith in signs. “I knew that would please you.” She said. “We should send word to your brother on the Wall, and ask Ashara to stay for a little while longer.”_

_“Yes, of course.” He agreed. “Ben will want to be here. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird.” Ned rose and pulled her to her feet. “Damnation, how many years has it been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the message say?”_

_“I should think a hundred knights, at least with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them.”_

_“Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes,” he said. “It is just as well. That will give us more time to prepare.”_

_“The queen’s brothers are also in the party,” she told him._

_Ned grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the Lannisters, and of course with Ashara here there would be tension because of her connection with Princess Elia. “Well, if the price for Robert’s company is an infestation of Lannisters so be it. It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his court.”_

_“Where the king goes the realm follows.” She said._

_“I just hope he does nothing untoward to provoke Ashara, she does not like him nor does he like the Dornish.” Ned said, worried for a moment._

_“I will speak with her if you wish.” Catelyn said knowing that he would agree, she got on well with Jon and Jeyne’s mother._

_“Very well then.” Ned replied._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. The King Comes To Winterfell

**Jeyne**

It was a relatively warm day in Winterfell, well as warm as it could get with the summer snows. Even so Jeyne wrapped up in several layers just to make sure she did not catch a chill, or another illness. She had been bedridden for several days before her cousin Robb’s wedding and had only just recovered in time to greet her mother when she arrived with cousin Edric. She had always been frail, that was what the maesters called it, she feel ill easily, she caught colds easily, it was quite a pain if she was honest and it often led, she knew to some whispering by the servants and helpers when they thought she could not hear them. But Jeyne had heard most of what the whispers said, that it would be better if she simply went off and died, went to sleep and never woke up again, that if that were to happen it would make life so much easier for her family.

Jeyne had never truly heard the whispers, she doubted whether there had been any whispers, when she had lived in Starfall, no the helpers there were too loyal to her uncle Allem and her and Jon’s mother, and still remembered Princess Elia to make any comment about their lady’s daughter’s ill health. Winterfell though, Winterfell was different. She had never truly fit in, in the north, and it was not for lack of trying. She got on well with her cousins, but the cold weather just seemed to disagree with her and more often than not she found herself bed ridden with some illness or the other. She had been eight and newly arrived to Winterfell when she had heard some of the maids whispering about her ill health, they had said some very nasty things about her, and that had made her run to her room and cry her eyes out. She had not come out of her room for hours and eventually it had taken both her brother Jon and her sworn sword Arthur to coerce her out of her room.

She had later spoken to Uncle Ned about it, and he had told her that should she hear anything like that again, she was to come and tell him straight away and he would deal with it. Of course she had come to him once to tell him, but as she had gotten older, though the whispers still followed her around, she simply developed a thick skin and ignored what the whispers said. _Let them whisper_ was what she often thought, the whisperers simply had nothing better to occupy their time with, and really she felt sorry for them. Of course Robb and Jon did not seem to share her attitude toward the whispers- Jon more so than Robb- and she knew there had been times where they had got into fights with some of the local stable boys or other boys about comments they had made about her.

But that was all in the past now. Her mother was here, and she knew that she would finally get to return home back to Starfall. She knew that she would miss her cousins but she would keep in contact with them through letters. The only problem was that Jon wished to join the Night’s Watch. When he had told her, she had nodded and accepted his reasons, but internally she had felt like crying, Jon was her brother, they had grown up together, they done pretty much everything together, she did not know what she would do without him, and so she had devised a plan to convince Jon to change his mind. She had worked with Robb and his wife Alys, and then when her mother had come she had told her about her plan, and now days before the king was to come to Winterfell, she was about put her plan in motion.

She heard a knock on the door, and from the way Sandy ran and began scratching at the door she knew that it would be her mother, she went and opened the door. Lady Ashara, Jon and Jeyne’s mother had been a beauty when she had been younger, with dark hair and haunting violet eyes she had captured the attention of many men, even now older as she was, she still caused heads to turn, many marriage proposals Jeyne knew had come to Starfall asking for her mother’s hand, but Lady Ashara had turned each and every one of them down, why Jeyne knew not, but she was glad, she did not wish to have to share her mother with anyone other than Jon. Robb and Alys soon entered her room as well, Greywind padding in and instantly beginning to play with Sandy, all they needed to do now was wait.

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes before they heard footsteps approaching her room, and she could tell that it was Jon and so she went and opened the door before he had even had a chance to knock. Ghost bounded in and began playing with Sandy and Greywind, Jon walked into her room looking confused when he saw their mother and Robb and Alys in the room.

“You wanted to see me Jeyne?” Jon asked his confusion evident.

“Yes, well actually we all wanted to see you. We’ve got something we want to speak to you about.” Jeyne replied.

“Okay...” Jon said hesitantly.

Jeyne swallowed nervously and then began. “I know you want to join the Night’s Watch Jon, but have you thought about other places for you to go to, other things for you to do?”

She saw Jon begin to reply, his mouth tightening as it often did when he became angry. Jeyne went on, “I know this might be selfish of me Jon. But I don’t want you to go to the Wall. We’ve always been there for each other growing up and I, I don’t know, I’d feel lost without you beside me. Who’s going to be there to make me laugh when I fall ill, who’s going to sing to me at night?”

“Jeyne, I...” Jon began, but Robb interrupted him.

“Jon, you know you can always stay in Winterfell for a bit longer, you don’t have to go to the Wall or even back south for a little while. You’ve still got time coz.”

Alys elaborated, “Besides I’m going to need some help keeping Robb in line, if King Robert does decided to take your father down south with him.” She smiled at that, and Jeyne could have kissed her.

Jon still looked hesitant and vaguely bemused; he turned to look at their mother to see what she had to say. “I know you wish to join the Night’s Watch Jon, but surely you can do that in a few years time. The Wall has stood for eight thousand years, and will continue to stand. Experience a bit more of life Jon, come back home see Starfall, see Allyria before she goes off and marries Lord Beric. Meet Princess Arianne and the Sand Snakes one more time, and then if you still want to take the black.”

Jeyne knew they had nearly convinced Jon to change his mind, but then she saw the way his shoulders straightened and the way he stood taller, and she knew they had lost. Jon was decided. “I know that you all want what is best for me, and I thank you for that. But for once in my life I just want to do something because I want to do it, not because I’ve been told to do it. There is honour in serving in the Night’s Watch; a man can rise high in the Watch no matter his name or station of birth. I think that I can fulfil myself in the Watch, and besides,” he said a wry smile coming onto his face then. “Black always has been my colour.”

They all laughed at that, but Jeyne could not help the feeling of sadness that began to engulf her. Jon- her brother, her companion- would be leaving Winterfell, but he would not be heading south with her and their mother, no he would be heading north to the Wall. As if sensing her distress Sandy began to whine. Before anyone else could say anything though, there was a knock on the door and one of the servants poked, their head round the door to inform them that their presence was required down in the courtyard for the King’s Party had been spotted on the horizon.

Robb and Alys bid them farewell and headed out of the room toward the courtyard Greywind on their heels. Leaving Jeyne, Jon and their mother in the room. Lady Ashara looked at Jon and quietly asked him, “Are you sure this is what you wish to do Jon?”

Jeyne watched as her brother nodded, she heard her mother sigh then and say “Very well, I will not force you to change your mind, but know that if you ever do change your mind Starfall will wait for you. Now come, let us greet the baby killing king and his whore of a queen.”

“Will you be okay mother? Greeting King Robert and Queen Cersei?” Jeyne asked, both she and Jon knew their mother had a very low opinion of Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters because of what they had done to her friend Princess Elia and her children Rhaenys and Aegon.

Jeyne heard her mother give a bitter laugh. “Yes sweetling I will be fine. With you and Jon here, I have no cause for complaint. So long as I don’t have to look to long the royals I shall be fine.” She smiled then and then Jeyne, Jon and their mother walked down to the courtyard arm in arm to wait for the royal party.

Because of their mother’s presence Jeyne knew that she and Jon would be standing in the front line with their cousins and their uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn, otherwise they would likely be standing with Theon Greyjoy- Jeyne shuddered at the very thought of it, there was something about Theon that creeped her out- she stood next to her mother and her brother as they waited for the King’s party to ride through the gates.

They waited for a long moment and then the royal party burst through the gates of Winterfell in a flurry of gold, silver and crimson, Lannister crimson. Jeyne spotted the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister wearing golden armour, she briefly wondered if it was the same armour he had worn when he had killed the king he had been sworn to protect, next came a man with a face so burned it was horrible to look upon, and beside him rode a boy who could only be the crown prince, he had golden Lannister hair it curled down to his shoulders and he wore an expression of absolute disdain, Jeyne already felt the hate pooling in her gut at the sight of him, and knew from the way Jon tensed beside her that he felt the same, she reached and grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.

Next came a big fat man, with long black hair and a thick black beard to hide his many chins and loose skin, he vaulted of off his warhorse and strode toward Uncle Ned and soon had him in a bone crushing hug. “Ned!” she heard the man exclaim, belatedly realising that this man was the King, Robert Baratheon. Her uncle’s oldest friend. “You have not changed at all.”

“Your Grace,” Jeyne heard her uncle say in his lord’s voice. “Winterfell is yours.”

Jeyne then heard the king say “Take me down to your crypts Ned. I would pay my respects.” Just as his queen, the Lannister woman dismounted and walked toward him and her uncle, she tried to voice her protests about the long journey, but the king ignored her and merely gestured for her uncle Ned to lead the way.

Once they had disappeared out of sight, it had fallen to her aunt Catelyn to introduce the Queen to the rest of them, when Queen Cersei got to herself, her mother and Jon she gave the three of them a rather cold look before turning her face up at them in a dismissive manner and walking on. As the guests were shown to their accommodations, Jeyne heard Jon whisper in her ear, loud enough only for their mother to hear. “Well that certainly was disappointing. And the Queen seems full of herself.” Jeyne had to hide her smile behind her hand and she knew her mother was doing the same. It truly had not been what she was expecting.

* * *

**Eddard**

_They went down to the crypt together, Ned and the king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. “I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the south, the way they talk about my seven kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined.”_

_“I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?”_

_Robert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?”_

_“Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.”_

_Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!” The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended._

_“Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild.”_

_“The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think.”_

_“The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”_

_“You need to come south,” Robert told him. “You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden, there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth. You will see, I brought you some. Even at Storm’s End, with that good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to see the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich.” He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. “And the girls Ned!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it’s too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not but it’s all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked.”  The king laughed happily._

_Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark. Yet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt._

_He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two in the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the sepulchres that contained their mortal remains. He led Robert past the dead of House Stark, past Lords of Winterfell, their likeness carved into the stone tombs that encased them, their swords gripped in an iron grip over their laps and direwolves of their house curled at their feet. He stopped when he reached the place where his sister’s statue stood, a garland of pale blue roses were tucked at her feet, Ned had placed them there when he had last visited a few days prior to the King’s arrival._

_They stood in a contemplative silence for a long moment before Robert began speaking about times past, reminiscing about times that had been and things that should have happened. Most of all though his old friend spoke of Lyanna, and Rhaegar. He spoke lovingly of Lyanna and venom dripped from him as he spoke of Prince Rhaegar. Ned did not wish to think too long on that topic for he knew that the product of their union was in the hall above them, he also knew that buried deep down with Lyanna’s bones was the wedding cloak that she had been given by the Prince, a cloak of Targaryen black with the red three headed dragon on it._

_Once Robert had finished reminiscing they stood in silence once more for a long time, Ned thought briefly that Robert may have fallen asleep so quite he was, but then he broke the silence and spoke once more, but in a quieter voice. “So Ned, what is it like having the Lady Ashara in Winterfell?”_

_Ned turned to face his friend keeping his expression blank. “What do you mean Robert?”_

_Robert chuckled. “Oh come now Ned, I know you fancied her back when we were boys. Tell me is she still as beautiful as she was at Harrenhal? Have you tried bringing her to yours and Catelyn’s bed? I hear Dornishwomen are more than willing to try that sort of thing.”_

_Ned swallowed, he was horrified by what his friend was suggesting, he had slept with Ashara once, at Harrenhal and their daughter believed that his brother Brandon was her father, to better protect Jon, the lie still rankled him all these years later, knowing that he could never hear Jeyne call him father, as Sansa and  Arya did, but of course Robert could not know that. So instead he merely replied. “She is beautiful still yes. Any fool could see that. But no I have not asked her to mine and Catelyn’s bed, nor will I. I love Catelyn Robert, I love her with all my heart, and I will do nothing to make her uncomfortable.”_

_Robert merely grunted. “Very well then, I might just have to try for myself and see,” his booming laughter ran throughout the crypts, Ned even smiled though he knew if Robert tried anything with Ashara he was likely to lose a limb, or two. Robert continued “You must have wondered why I finally came north to Winterfell after so long.”_

_Ned had his suspicions but he said nothing instead he waited for Robert to continue speaking. “Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King.”_

_Ned dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him; what other reason could Robert have had for coming so far? The hand of the king was the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. He spoke with the king’s voice, commanded the king’s armies, and drafted the king’s laws. At times he even sat upon the Iron Throne to dispense the king’s justice, when the king was absent, sick or otherwise indisposed. Robert was offering him a responsibility as large as the realm itself. It was the last thing in the world he wanted._

_“Your Grace, I am not worthy of the honour.”_

_Robert groaned with good humoured impatience. “If I wanted to honour you, I’d let you retire. I’m planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave.” He slapped his gut and grinned._

_Then his old friend sprung something that he truly had not been expecting. “We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and Your Sansa shall join our houses as Lyanna and I might once have done.”_

_“Sansa is only eleven.”_

_Robert waved an impatient hand. “Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years. Now stand up and say yes curse you.”_

_“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace.” Ned answered. He hesitated. “These honours are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife...”_

_“Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must. Just don’t keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men.”_

_They left the crypts then, Ned’s head still reeling from all that had been said. He could not truly enjoy the feast that was held later that day as a result. His mind was still reeling from everything Robert had asked of him and told him. He needed time to think it all  through; he needed time to tell Catelyn, he wanted to give Robert a good reason as to why he did not wish to go south. No Stark had ever gone south and lived to tell the tale, his father had gone south and died so too had Brandon. Lyanna had died in Dorne. No he did not wish to go south to the Viper’s nest they called a capital especially not with his girls there no._

_He had thought that Catelyn would agree with him, but she urged him to go, saying how it would ensure that their family remained safe and secure. She argued that Robert the king was not the same man as the Robert he had known as a boy, nor even the same man he had known during the rebellion. She argued that kingship would have changed Robert, and that it did no good to reject a king’s demand. He knew deep down that she was right, she was always right. That did not make it any easier, he still wished to stay in the north where he belonged, where all Starks belonged but then, Sansa would marry Joffrey, and he had seen something dark in the boy that unnerved him, something he did not like the look of, he would need to be there to protect Sansa, from those viper’s in the court._

_Once Catelyn read the letter her sister Lysa had sent her, in which she blamed the Lannisters- most specifically the Queen- for the death of her lord husband, Catelyn insisted that he had to go south to bring Jon Arryn’s killers to justice, something Maester Luwin also said would be wise to do. Catelyn argued that Robert would listen to him if he brought enough evidence to convict the king, she said she had friends in King’s Landing who could help him in his inquiries. Reluctantly he agreed with Catelyn, and the next day told Robert of his acceptance of the Handship._

_In typical Robert fashion, they had to thrown another grand feast to celebrate, both his acceptance of the handship and Sansa and Joffrey’s betrothal. The Prince Ned noticed seemed to be on his best behaviour during the feast, he was very charming toward Sansa and even Jeyne, though Ned saw the hateful looks he shot Robb and Jon, and he saw the way Jon’s mouth tightened whenever he looked at Joffrey, something bad was brewing between those two and he would need to stop it before it could blow out of control._

_Later as the feast began to unwind, the children were in bed, Catelyn had retired for the night, Robert was fiddling with some serving wench and the Queen and her brother were nowhere to be seen, Ned found himself walking Ashara back to her room. He had not spent any time alone with Ashara since she had been in Winterfell, making perfectly sure that whenever he was forced to be in her company there were plenty of people in the room. He loved Catelyn with all his heart and being, but there was some sort of pull Ashara had over him that he feared._

_“So, your girl is to be wed to the crown prince.” He heard Ashara say._

_“Yes, a good match. Perfect even. Sansa is delighted.” Ned replied._

_He heard Ashara snort. “Yes, well you might wish to caution her against expecting a fairy tale. Especially from royalty.”_

_“Ashara...”he began but she interrupted him._

_“It is true you know Ned. When Elia found out she was to marry Rhaegar, she was giddy with delight. She was so happy not even her frailties could keep her bedridden for long. And then she learnt that life was not a fairy tale, and Rhaegar broke his vows.” Ashara spoke coldly._

_Ned felt himself tense then. He said nothing but as Ashara broke away from him and moved toward her room she stopped and turned round, and said “Just so you know, Jon does not like the Prince, anymore than Oberyn liked Rhaegar. Keep an eye on him something will happen soon if you don’t.”_

_With that she walked inside and closer the door, leaving him feeling perplexed._

* * *

**Jon**

Jon watched Bran and Prince Tommem practice their sword fighting with wooden swords, and cheered with Robb and Theon as Bran managed to hit Prince Tommem again and again, until he eventually managed to knock him to the ground. Jon was not sure what to make of the royal family. King Robert had been a huge disappointment to him, he had grown up listening to his uncle’s tales of a strong, brave man who had fought a war for his aunt Lyanna. In his head he had always pictured Robert Baratheon as a tall man, who was strong and built like an aurochs, the man he had seen was a fat old man, who seemed more happy drinking and wenching than doing anything else. The Queen was beautiful, but cold. Not at all like Jon’s own mother, who possessed warmth that the Queen seemed to lack, had even aunt Catelyn agreed with that assessment when Jon had spoke with her and his mother the other day. Prince Joffrey was a prick. Robb, Theon even Jeyne agreed.

The crown prince, thought himself above everything and everyone in Winterfell and Jon did not like him one bit. Ever since his betrothal to Jon’s cousin Sansa had been announced the prince had only grown cockier, strutting around Winterfell like he owned the place and he was arrogant, so very, very arrogant. Though of course whenever Sansa was present he never failed to act chivalrously and kindly, so of course Sansa thought herself in love with him, it was so infuriating. Though of course when he had brought this up with his mother and Jeyne they had both laughed and claimed that he was jealous, which was ridiculous why would he be jealous of some spoiled twelve year old, when he was going to join the Watch?

Jon listened as Robb and Theon, and Alys and Jeyne cheered Bran on as he knocked Prince Tommem to the ground once more. Robb and Alys, Jon thought made a very good couple. Alys was kind and smart, and she treated Jeyne like a proper person, not like some weakling, which of course made Jon like her that much more. There were many things he could take, like the fact that he was a bastard, but one thing he could not tolerate was people treating Jeyne differently or even making fun of her because of her health. In fact he had gotten into trouble more than once because he had fought whoever had dared insult his sister.

Jon felt something was about to go horribly wrong when Prince Joffrey moved himself into the sunlight he sounded bored. “This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik.”

Theon gave a bark of laughter. “You are children.”

“Robb may be a child,” Joffrey said. “I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword.”

“You got more swats than you gave, Joff.” Robb said. “Are you afraid?”

Prince Joffrey looked at him. “Oh terrified,” he said. “You’re so much older.” Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Jon groaned inwardly, Robb was being baited.

Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. “What are you suggesting?” He asked the prince.

“live steel.”

“Done,” said Robb. “You’ll be sorry.”

The master at arms put a hand on Robb’s shoulder to quiet him. “Live steel is too dangerous. I will permits you tourney swords with blunted edges.”

Joffrey sneered at that and said. “Does Winterfell breed cowards or is it just you Robb? Why hide behind tourney swords if not because you are a coward.”

Jon saw Robb bristle and was thankful that Alys laid a hand on his arm to keep him still, otherwise he knew not what Robb would do.

He did not expect Jeyne to speak then. “That is not very gallant of you, Your Grace. Mocking a man who will soon be your ally, that is not smart at all, especially when you are a guest here.”

Joffrey turned his attention to Jeyne and sneered at her, his voice was laced with venom when he spoke next. “Do you threaten me Sand? A bastard girl, who is so frail it would be better if she was to fall asleep and never wake again. You would seek to give advice to me?”

Jon tensed, Jeyne meanwhile merely said. “I did not mean to cause offence Your Grace. Forgive me if I did. I merely thought it would be wise to ask you not to offend Winterfell and the Starks when you are a guest here.”

Joffrey spat venom then. “Oh so you thought to counsel me did you? Well let me counsel you. Next time I want your advice- which will be never- I will ask it of you. In fact come to think of it you could help me with something now.”

Jeyne looked at Joffrey inquisitively, “Oh and what might that be Your Grace?”

Jon saw Joffrey turn his head for a moment looking at the assortment of men and squires gathered around him, before he turned back to face Jeyne a smirk upon his face. “I hear your mother was a slut when she was younger. Perhaps you have inherited some of her promiscuity. I want you to come to my chambers tonight and suck my cock, that is if your frail health does not kill you.”

Some of the men next to Joffrey laughed nervously, Joffrey smirked then, Jeyne remained silent as did Robb, Theon, Alys and Ser Rodrik. Jon though felt himself go black with rage, how dare this insolent little shit insult his mother and his sister. Before he knew what he was doing he had moved from where he had been standing and was striding toward Joffrey. He vaguely heard someone shouting his name, it could have been Jeyne or Robb it made no difference, he advanced upon Joffrey raised his right hand curled it into a fist and punched Joffrey in the face once, twice, thrice, four times, he punched him a total of ten times before he was eventually hauled off of the crown prince.

By the time he was done, Joffrey had a bloody lip and a swollen eye. Jon was fuming he was straining against Theon and Ser Rodrik wanting to cause Joffrey more harm. Then he felt Jeyne’s hand on his cheek, and then she was in front of him her violet eyes filled with concern. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Jon, Jon sweetling its okay. Everything’s fine Jon. its okay come back to me Jon, come back to me.” And slowly Jon felt his breathing return to normal, and then he felt Theon and Ser Rodrik release him and he fell into Jeyne’s arms holding her tightly and sobbing.

Later, once he had calmed down he was brought before his uncle, his aunt and his mother and the king. Lord Eddard looked solemn, in fact they all looked solemn and grim, and for a moment Jon feared that he would have to be executed.

His uncle spoke first, with his Lord’s voice. “Jon, do you know why you have been brought here?”

Jon nodded. “Yes uncle.”

King Robert sighed then and Jon turned to look at the king. Robert had a sad look in his eyes when he spoke. “Very well then. Joffrey says that you attacked him unprovoked. Is that true?”

Jon bristled with anger. “No your grace it is not. Prince Joffrey insulted my sister and my lady mother. He said that my lady mother was a whore and he insulted Jeyne’s health. I admit that perhaps I went too far, but something had to be done. I won’t let anyone insult my mother or my sister, not for as long as I live.”

He heard his mother and aunt Catelyn sob, his uncle Ned and the King both sighed. “Very well then, Ned?” He saw his uncle step forward then and look at the king. “See that your nephew is kept indoors for the rest of our stay here I don’t want Joff or Cersei kicking up a fuss.”

“Yes Your Grace.”

And so it was that Jon was kept to his room, unable to leave unless it was for dinner or to use the toilet. Ghost was his companion and occasionally his mother or Jeyne would come and visit him, but the rest of the family did not, or could not from what Jeyne told him because they had to pretend to be making amends with the Baratheon’s. Jon did not regret what he had done, he was sorry though that his uncle had to pay because Joffrey was a little cry baby. He was in his room when Bran fell, and then the castle went into mourning.

* * *

**Catelyn.**

_Ned and the girls and the royal party and Lady Ashara and Jeyne and Jon had been gone for eight days now. Ned and the girls for King’s Landing, Ashara and Jeyne for Starfall and Jon, her nephew her strong nephew who had beaten the Prince when he had dared insult Jeyne had gone north to the wall. Cersei had been furious when she had found out what had happened to her son and had demanded that Jon be severly punished and so it had been agreed with Jon’s consent that he be sent to the Wall with Benjen, that Jon had wanted to go to the Wall in the first place was not mentioned to the Royals. Catelyn was only glad that the royals had left, she did not like them anymore than Ned did, and yet he rode south with them even though Bran lay in his bed, dead to the world, asleep for all eight days Jon had alerted them to his fall from the Broken Tower and they had all deliberated how he could have fallen. Her little boy never fell, everyone in Winterfell knew that. She thought back to Lysa’s letter and wondered if perhaps Bran had seen something he was not supposed to see._

_Robb had come to her and begged her to eat, to move from her vigil beside Bran’s bedside. But she could not do it, not now, no she couldn’t leave him here alone, not when he could need her at any moment. She knew she was being unfair to Robb, she knew that some must think her mad. But she could not help it, her baby Bran was hurt and might die, and she could not leave his side, not even for a moment. Robb had been about to speak with her again to try and coerce her into moving when he had seen the library tower on fire and had rushed to put the fire out. She said a silent prayer to the seven faces of god as she went to the window. Across the bailey, long tongues of flame shot from the windows of the library. She watched the smoke rise into the sky and thought sadly of all the books the Starks had gathered over the centuries. Then she closed the shutters._

_When she turned away from the window, the man was in the room with her._

_“You weren’t supposed to be here.” He muttered sourly. “No one was supposed to be here.”_

_He was a small dirty man in filthy brown clothing and he stank of horses. Catelyn knew all the men who worked in their stables and he was none of them. He was gaunt, with limp blond hair and pale eyes deep sunk in a bony face and there was a dagger in his hand. Catelyn looked at the knife then at Bran. “No,” she said. The word stuck in her throat, the merest whisper._

_He must have heard her. “It’s a mercy,” he said. “He’s dead already.”_

_“No,” Catelyn said louder now as she found her voice again. She spun back toward the window to scream for help but the man moved faster than she would have believed. One hand clamped down over her mouth and yanked her head, the other brought the dagger up to her windpipe. The stench of him was overwhelming.  She reached up with both hands and grabbed the blade with all her strength, pulling it away from her throat. She heard him cursing into her ear. Her fingers were slippery with blood, but she would not let go of the dagger. The hand over her mouth clenched more tightly, shutting off her air. Catelyn twisted her head to the side and managed to get a piece of his flesh between her teeth. She bit down hard into his palm. The man grunted in pain. She ground her teeth together and tore at him and all of a sudden he let go. The taste of his blood filled her mouth. She sucked in air and screamed, and he grabbed her hair and pulled her away from him and she stumbled and went down, and then he was standing over her breathing hard, shaking._

_Catelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble, less than a snarl, the merest whisper of a threat but he must have heard something because he started to turn just as the wolf- Bran’s wolf- made its leap. They went down together half sprawled over Catelyn where she’d fallen. The wolf ripped the man’s jaw open and then tore into his throat, leaving him no time to scream. The blood splattered all over the floor and some of it covered Catelyn. That was how they found her. Sat against Bran’s bed, with his direwolf standing over the assassins body, his muzzle bloody._

_Later once Maester Luwin had seen to her wounds, she spoke with Robb, and they discussed the fire and the attacker. It seemed that the assassin had been a part of King Robert’s entourage that had ridden to Winterfell and had likely been sleeping in the stables waiting for the right moment to strike, he had set the fire as a diversion, hoping that all of the men and even Catelyn would be too busy trying to put the fire out, that they would leave Bran unguarded. Had it not been for his direwolf, she and her son would have been dead now._

_Once more guards had been posted in front of Bran and her room as well as Rickon’s and Robb and Alys’s she called for a meeting in the godswood in front of the heart tree. And it was there that she told her son, his wife, and Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin as well as Theon Greyjoy about her suspicions about who had pushed Bran and why, as well as about her sister’s letter accusing the Lannister’s for Jon Arryn’s death.  After much discussion it was decided that she would travel to King’s Landing she and Ser Rodrik would take a ship from White Harbour and get to King’s Landing before Ned and the Lannisters and she would present her findings to Ned._

_Unbeknownst to the party, hidden behind one of the trees in the godswood was a auburn haired wench who had been sent north from King’s Landing. She quickly made her way back to her lodgings to let her master know the news of an imminent arrival._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Demon Eyes

**Robb**

Winterfell had become much quieter since father, the girls, and Jon and Jeyne had left. There was less hustle and bustle about his home, it was almost eerily quiet, and then someone had sent an assassin to try and kill Bran, and mother had gone to King’s Landing to tell father about the attack and bring the people behind the attack to justice. Despite this there was much work that still needed to be done around Winterfell, and as such Robb found that he spent most of his waking hours talking with the men of the castle seeing to restoration work of the library tower, and taking daily reports from the guards and Theon about the security in the castle, he did not wish for there to be anymore unsuspecting attacks on himself or his family.

All of this work often meant that he had very little time to actually spend with either his wife or his baby brother Rickon. As such though he was very grateful for Alys and her understanding, she spent most of her day with Rickon making sure that he went to his lessons and generally stayed out of trouble. Of course, when they both had some spare time in the evenings once dinner had been had and Rickon had been put to bed, they spent time with each other and coupled. It was quite a nice experience and Robb could now fully understand why Theon would often speak about it so often. As of yet though their coupling had yet to produce a child, but Robb was not too concerned about that for they had plenty of time, and with father still alive, they would not need to have children for some time. No Robb liked to spend the time he had with his wife, merely enjoying her body simply because he could and because he liked her, a lot. He had known Alys since they were six when she had come with her father when Lord Karstark had come visiting for “official business” she had since told him that he had come there hoping to get a betrothal between her and him. Of course that had finally happened some years later when he had turned ten and three.

Since then she had spent more time visiting Winterfell and he had gotten to know her. His wife was a very good looking, and very energetic. She reminded him of a slightly older version of Arya, albeit a much more prettier and of course nicer version of Arya, and she was of course not his sister. “What are you day dreaming about husband?” he heard his wife ask, amusement evident in her tone.

Robb grinned wolfishly and said. “Why you of course wife, come here.” And with that he pulled her flush against him, and titled her head up and kissed her full on the mouth. He did not care that they were standing in the middle of the hall and that someone could see them, it seemed neither did his wife for she responded eagerly to his kiss and when he put his tongue into her mouth she groaned appreciatively, and then their tongues were locked together and he groaned into her mouth. Alys was the one to break the kiss, pulling away and grinning slyly when he groaned in protest.

“Now, now Robb. We can’t have your reputation sullied now can we? Lords of Winterfell are meant to be grim and solemn, it would be bad for your image if people knew that Lords of Winterfell actually had some feelings.” She laughed.

Robb grinned again, but also blushed and was about to respond when Maester Luwin came approaching from Bran’s room. The maester was breathing heavily, and he took a moment to stop and collect his breath. Then he spoke. “My lord, I came as soon as I could. I think you might want to come to Lord Brandon’s room.”

He felt his chest tighten then, Alys came and squeezed his hand reassuringly and asked. “What’s happened? Is Bran okay?”

Maester Luwin nodded and said. “He has woken, my lord, my lady.”

Robb looked at Alys and smiled at her. Then he looked at Maester Luwin and told him to lead the way. He and Alys followed Luwin to Bran’s room, where Old Nan was sitting fast asleep in a rocking chair beside the bed. Bran was lying propped up with his head against a pillow, his direwolf lying stretched out across the foot of his bed. Robb looked at Bran and smiled. “Bran! How are you feeling?”

Bran looked like he wanted to cry. “I can’t feel my legs Robb. Why can’t I feel my legs?”

Robb sighed, Alys squeezed his hand reassuringly and he spoke. “You fell Bran, you fell from the broken tower.”

Bran looked indignant as Robb suspected he might. “I didn’t fall! I never fall!”

Robb sighed again and this time said in a more comforting tone. “You did Bran, but it’s not your fault.”

Then Bran looked up from where he was on the bed. Robb turned to see Maester Luwin walking into the room with Rickon, who immediately bounded up and hugged Bran, Shaggydog nipped playfully and Bran’s as yet unnamed direwolf. Bran looked at Robb again and asked in a small voice. “Where’s mother Robb? I remember her being here, I heard her speak to me. I thought she would be here?”

Robb felt his heart tighten, Bran sounded so scared and frightened. “Mother was here Bran. She stayed beside your bed for as long as she could. But she had to go and see father about something. She’ll be home soon.” He couldn’t tell his brother the truth as to why mother had gone south. Not yet atleast, not until Bran was better, not until he felt better, of that much he was certain of.

“Oh,” Bran said and he sounded so small and tired.

“We’ll be back later, shall I leave you here with Nan and Rickon?” Robb asked.

Bran nodded and then said something in such a quiet voice, that Robb wasn’t sure what he had said and so he asked his little brother, and Bran responded. “Summer, my direwolf is called Summer.”

Robb nodded then walked out of the room with Alys, to go and think about other things. As the days passed and turned into weeks, and still mother did not come back to Winterfell, Robb began to worry but Alys said that perhaps she was simply spending time with Sansa and Arya as well, and so Robb did not think too long and what her continued absence might mean. Bran continued to improve, he was no longer so frail as he had been when he first woke up, he no longer slept for most of the day, and was able to travel about the castle on Hodor’s back, he seemed to be in a better mood because of it, though Robb knew that Bran still felt sad that he could no longer walk nor climb. Bran could not remember much of what had happened before he had fallen, he remembered climbing the broken tower, but he had no memory after that, not until he had woken up in his bed.

Robb had asked him twice, and then after the second time had gone to Maester Luwin and asked him his thoughts on the matter. The maester said that it was not unusual for a person who had experienced a shock or a traumatic even to have memory lapses, and Bran’s fall certainly classed as a traumatic experience and so Robb let it slide, determined to wait for mother to come back from King’s Landing until he asked any more questions, if all went according to plan mother would come back with the answers and they would not have to worry about it anymore. Just to make absolutely sure though, Robb often went to the broken tower with Alys and Theon to see if there could be any clues as to whom or what might have caused Bran’s fall.

Robb had spent many a time during his own childhood hiding and playing in the Broken Tower with Jon and Theon, and occasionally Jeyne when her health permitted it. It was a good place to hide, for no one really ever came there. As they looked around the edges of the tower where Jon had found Bran, they saw nothing of note, though Greywind did begin to whine softly the further up the tower they got. Until they were at the top of the tower, in a place that Robb knew had once been a solar, and there hidden amongst the rubble of the tower they found a single golden curl.

A few days after they had found the golden curl, Bran told him that Sansa’s direwolf Lady had been killed, when asked how he knew this, Bran simply said that Summer knew that his sister was no longer there, and it seemed Greywind and Shaggydog knew this as well for they howled for hours, and then later that night a raven came from their father on the Kingsroad to tell them that there had been an incident on the Kingsroad involving Sansa, Arya, a butcher’s boy and Prince Joffrey, and that Lady, Sansa’s direwolf had been executed. Robb had the suspicion that there was something more to this story, and he had a sneaking feeling that it had more to do with Joffrey being a prick than his father let on. He still remembered how Joffrey had looked down upon Winterfell and the north, the whole time he had been here, and he also remembered how the prince had insulted Jon and Jeyne’s mother as well as Jeyne, and he remembered how Jon had beaten the prince bloody, and then because the prince had run sobbing to his mother, Jon had been forced to go to the Wall with Uncle Benjen, when Robb had been convinced Jon would either stay in Winterfell or go back south with Aunt Ashara and Jeyne.

Then Tyrion Lannister came to Winterfell. Given what his mother had said, and the golden curl they had found in Winterfell, Robb thought that he could be excused for being suspicious of why the imp was in Winterfell, especially when he began asking Bran all sorts of questions. “My brother is not here for your questioning, Lannister.” Robb said in his lord’s voice.

The imp’s eyes had quirked with amusement and he had then continued questioning Bran about his fall, and what he remembered about it, from the way he was asking his questions Robb got the feeling that perhaps the imp was blameless in the attack on Bran, and that perhaps he should bring his suspicions to him. A feeling that was further enforced when the imp presented a design for a saddle that would allow Bran to ride a horse comfortably once more. Robb tried to apologies for his earlier briskness by offering the imp a room in Winterfell, but the man declined and instead said that he would be spending the night in a brothel.

Once Lord Tyrion had left the great hall, Robb began speaking with Yoren the man who had come the Wall. He asked him about how Jon was getting on and how uncle Benjen was doing. Yoren’s eyes quirked with amusement and something that might have been pride when he spoke of Jon. “Lord Sand eh. Aye Lord Sand is getting on just fine. He’s made a few friends I believe, an aurochs, a pig and a bunch of halfwits. But aye he’s a good lad, stubborn too and proud, but quiet as well. Aye he’s getting on fine. Your uncle Benjen, I could not say. He went out on a ranging before I left; last I heard he hadn’t returned.”

Robb thanked Yoren and then once dinner was done for the night, helped escort Bran and Rickon to bed, and listened as Alys told them both a story to help them sleep and then as they entered their rooms Robb voiced his thoughts from earlier in the day. “I think I might tell Lord Tyrion about our suspicions, what do you think my lady?”

Alys looked up from the mirror where she was brushing her hair for bed and said. “I believe you should mention the golden curl, but nothing more. Let Lord Tyrion figure it out for himself. But it is up to you Robb.”

Robb smiled at her then and walked over to her and pulled the brush from her and began brushing her hair himself. As he brushed, he heard his wife hum and then she said. “Robb, I have something that I want to tell you.”

Robb ceased brushing his wife’s hair and put the brush on the table, and then looked at her. “Go on Alys.”

Alys gave him a nervous smile then and said. “I think I might be pregnant.”

* * *

**Jon**

The wall was not like anything he had expected. He had thought that the Wall would be just like it had seemed in the stories Old Nan had told him and his sister and cousins when they were children. He realised now that he had wanted it to be like that, so that he could justify why he had left his sister and his mother behind. After he had punched Joffrey and been brought before the king, he had been confined to his room, but then he had been called before the king once more, except this time the Queen was there as was Joffrey, and the little blonde haired shit, had lied to his father and mother and told them how Jon had attacked him like a savage and that he had merely been having a polite conversation with Jeyne. Jon knew that neither his uncle nor the king believed what the prince was saying and yet because Queen Cersei was there, the king had to  believe what Joffrey had said, and had told Jon that it was a grievous thing to assault the heir to the iron throne, and that in the days of the Targaryens one who struck a royal would lose the offending limb, but the King’s mouth had quirked with anger as he said the name Targaryen and Jon had hoped briefly that he would get free, but then the king had said that whilst he was no barbarian, Jon would have to suffer the consequences of his actions and would have to take the black.

Jon agreed to take the black, though that was no longer what he had wanted to do. He knew how ill Jeyne was, he knew that he was needed in Starfall if not Winterfell. His mother needed him there, to help her look after Edric, Allyria and Jeyne. His family needed him, and yet here he was stuck in the far north, stuck with thieves and rapists and men without honour and cravens. Here he was at the place where he had thought he could make a name for himself, and here he was stuck until the end of his days, for though he had not yet taken his vows he knew that he could not flee from the Watch not now, not now that he was here. He had learnt many things from his time in Winterfell, and he knew that he could not shame his uncle, he would not do that, his name might be Sand but the blood of the Starks ran through his veins and if this was to be his fate, so be it. He would accept it and he would do what he could to make the best of it. He only hoped that he could have time to visit his mother and Jeyne and perhaps attend Allyria’s wedding.

He had gotten along well with Lord Tyrion. A bastard and an imp, what a company they made. Jon had found that he liked the Imp best of the Lannister siblings, whereas the Queen and the Kingslayer seemed to be full of them and considered anyone else not of their family to be beneath them, Tyrion was a laugh. He traded japes easily and gave as good as he got. And he was one of the few people who had not seemed to find Jeyne a pitiful girl in the King’s party, something that had greatly endeared him to Jon, for Jon had even heard the king say something about Jeyne’s ill health, and he had been so tempted to skewer the king for saying that, how dare the man, the fat oaf, the child killer question the worth of his sister.

 

It had been Tyrion who had turned the boys, the new recruits from trying to kill Jon, into some of his best friends.  Tyrion had opened Jon’s eyes to the reality of their situation, whilst he may have been a bastard, he had been fortunate to grow up in Starfall and Winterfell where he had received some very good tuition in swordsmanship and weaponry, whereas these boys had had little to none, and had no one to teach them. And Tyrion had told him his mismatched eyes serious for once, “Let us be honest here Jon. Allister Thorne is not the best of teachers. Should the wildlings ever strike south in great force, these boys will be the first ones to die. It would do them some good to have a teacher who did not hate them as such.” He had looked at Jon then, and it had seemed like his eyes were looking into the depths of Jon’s soul. Jon had agreed to change his approach to and had soon taken to showing his fellow recruits: Pyp, Grenn, Dareon, Halder and the rest, the lessons he had been taught by Ser Rodrik and his sister’s sworn sword Ser Arthur. That earnt him the scorn of Ser Thorne, but it had also earnt him the respect and friendship of those who had formerly been his enemies and foes.

The Sam had arrived. Big, fat and with so many chins he could have beaten King Robert with them, Samwell Tarly came from the Reach the eldest son of Randyll Tarly Lord of Horn Hill, he had taken the black to spare his father the embarrassment of having a craven for an heir. Try as he might, Jon just could not seem to get Sam to fight properly without blubbering like a baby. Initially his friends had wanted to have some fun with Sam, but one quick word from him and they had all taken to Sam and were now protecting him from Thorne’s brutality. He dearly hoped that Sam would learn quick enough, that in this place filled with rapers and thieves and men with no honour, it would do no good to be a craven, that was a lesson Jon had learnt the hard way and something he intended to make sure that Sam never had to suffer.

Before Tyrion had left the wall for his journey back south, Jon had received a raven from Winterfell writ in Robb’s hand that told of how Bran was awake. It also mentioned of how an assassin had tried to kill Bran whilst he was still unconscious, and how Bran’s direwolf- which he was calling Summer- had saved him and aunt Catelyn. Jon had been deeply concerned by that, and his concerns were heightened even more when he saw that Robb wrote that they suspected that the Lannisters had had a part to play in Bran’s fall and may haps even the attempt on his life. Jon had spoken with Tyrion the night before the man was due to leave for the south, he had not mentioned Robb’s suspicions, only that he hoped that Tyrion could do what he could to make Bran’s life easier, now that he was awake. He also asked him to make some of his own enquiries as to why Bran fell. Tyrion promised him that he would do just that and would find a way to tell Jon what he had found. When he watched Tyrion leave the next day, Jon had felt slightly more comfortable with himself. He knew Tyrion would stay true to his word, he could only hope nothing ill befell him.

That had left Jon on his lonesome with his new friends. For his uncle Benjen had left the day before Tyrion had, to go on a ranging north of the wall to discover what had become of Wymar Royce and the ranging party he had led north of the wall some months ago. His uncle had left some two weeks ago, and had yet to return. Jon was not too worried though, for he had spoken to old Maester Aemon about some of the rangings that had happened in the past, and the old maester had told him that it often took many moons for a ranging party to return from the north, for they had to make especially certain that nothing followed them when they returned. A system that had been started by the first Lord Commander that old Aemon had served under, one Lord Commander Dayne.

It was getting closer to the time when the new recruits- including Jon- would have to swear their vows, and Jon was determined to do it in front of the heart tree in the godswood north of the wall. He might have been born in Dorne, but he felt more of a connection with the old gods, the ones he felt had true power, at least in the north. The Old Bear had read out where the recruits would be going, and Jon had been desperately hoping that he would become a ranger like his uncle Benjen, and so had been deeply disappointed when the Old Bear read out his name for the stewards. And then when he was told by old Maester Aemon that he would be the Old Bear’s steward he had been even more disappointed. And then Sam had told him that meant that the Old Bear was grooming him for leadership, perhaps to be a future lord commander. Jon had looked at Sam then, at his friend’s big smiling face and had felt like punching it, and punching it hard. He did not wish to be Lord Commander in the future, hell he didn’t even want to be a man of the Night’s Watch, the more he thought about it the more he was certain he wanted to be in Starfall with his mother and Jeyne. He missed them terribly, even more than he missed his cousins, though he did briefly wonder how Sansa and Arya were getting on in King’s Landing, and whether or not Arya still had that little Bravo’s blade he had give her.

Then the day came for him to swear his vows. He rode out with Sam, Grenn, Pyp and Halder and several of the senior men of the Night’s Watch past the wall and to the nearby Godswood. He knelt before the heart tree and before instructed to say the vows, said a quick prayer to the old gods, to his father’s gods, to his uncle’s gods. _Please make me strong enough to accept this hand I have been given. Please give me the strength to do what is right._ The old Bowen Marsh told them to say their vows, and as the wind blew in something fierce and caused the branches of the heart tree to sway, their voices rang out as unison. “Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all nights to come.”

Then when they had all said their words, Bowen Marsh spoke “You came here boys, rapers, thieves, and bastards. Rise now as men and brothers of the Night’s Watch.”

And so they did, they rose from their position next to the heart tree, Jon said a quick prayer and then their fellow brothers were there to congratulate them and welcome them officially to the brotherhood. As Jon shook hands and accepted congratulations, and even as he rode back to Castle Black he could not help the strange sense of foreboding that seemed to have recently have formed in his mind, as he had said his vows, he could have sworn he felt a chill creep up on him and he could have sworn he heard the wind whisper his name.

He dismissed the thoughts from his mind the minute he was back in Castle Black, and made his way to the Lord Commander’s Tower and his own room. The Old Bear would likely have no need for him tonight. He fell asleep with the fire roaring in the hearth, and Ghost curled up next to him on the bed. When he awoke, the fire had died out and Ghost was at the door his teeth bared.

“What’s wrong Ghost?” Jon asked, his eyes still groggy from sleep. Ghost just kept his teeth bared, and began pawing at the door. “What’s wrong Ghost?” Jon asked again, Ghost kept pawing at the door, then turned to look at him and began whining. “Is there something outside boy?” Ghost turned back to the door and began nudging it with his head. Jon relented and opened the door, Ghost sped off down the hall. Jon called after him and raced after him, and found Ghost pawing at the Lord Commander’s door.

He heard footsteps from the other side of the door. “Lord Commander? “ Jon asked. There was no response. The footsteps seemed to be getting heavier, Jon called out once more, still no response, next to him Ghost whined louder and louder. Jon called out once more and when he got no response he put his whole body behind him as he shoved down the door. And what he saw scared him senseless. The dead black brother who had turned up outside the castle gates that morning, was walking around looking for the Lord Commander’s room no doubt. Jon was so shocked he knew not what to do. Ghost however, it seemed did for he leapt into the air and Jon watched stunned as man and wolf went falling to the ground. Ghost ripped the thing’s throat open, but all that did was annoy the thing more. It shoved Ghost off and staggered drunkenly toward Jon. Jon stood there frozen, watching the dead black brother advance toward him. Just as it was about to reach him, Ghost pounced on it from behind and brought it down.

Then Jon felt a cold hand grip him and turned to see the other dead black brother staring at him with ice blue eyes. Jon unfroze and shook the brother off and quickly drew his longsword, and began hacking and slashing at the creature but to no avail. Whenever he cut it, the creature simply kept moving toward him until it knocked the sword from his hand, and they fell to the floor wrestling each other. Jon feared he would be crushed under the sheer weight of the dead black brother- he had been a big man in life- close to him he heard Jon tearing into the other black brother, and out the corner of his eye he saw a lamp nearby that looked close to falling.

It took all his strength, but he managed to flip the dead black brother over his head and so that when he fell, the lamp fell onto him burning him instantly, and Jon watched as he staggered to his feet, as the dead black brother burnt and was reduced to ash. Ghost was still tearing into the other dead black brother nearby, but Jon saw the Old Bear standing in the doorway to his room still in a dressing gown a lamp in his hand, his eyes groggy. “What in the seven hells is going on?” the old bear asked, his voice laced with tired anger.

Before Jon could answer the dead black brother pushed Ghost off of him, and staggered drunkenly upward and toward the Old Bear. Jon tried to shout a warning but to no avail, it seemed his tongue had disappeared. Instead he lunged forward and took the lamp from the Old Bear’s hand, and threw it at the advancing black brother. The dead brother caught fire, and Jon watched him burn and prayed that that would be enough, he looked down to see Ghost panting heavily beside him, and then the fire began to spread.

The next day, the Lord Commander’s tower was a shadow of what it had been before, parts of it had been burnt by the fire that had killed the two wights. Jon’s hand had been burnt during the final fire, as he had tried to help the Old Bear out of the room and out of the tower. They had succeeded, but Jon’s hand had been as black as Shaggydog by the end of it, thankfully it was his left hand, so it was nothing too serious. And Maester Aemon had treated it and bandaged it and had said that with some luck and some time it would be fit to use once more.

The Lord Commander was housing himself in another part of Castle Black for the time being, and so Jon was also housed there. He had been called before the Old Bear this morning and as such had been attending to him for most of the day, and yet Jon could not help but think that there was something more the Old Bear wanted to say to him, what it was though he was not sure.

He was surprised when he opened the Lord Commander’s door and found Maester Aemon standing in the doorway being helped by Sam. “Jon Sand?” Maester Aemon asked.

“Yes maester I’m here.” Jon replied.

The maester smiled. “Good, help me into the room. The Lord Commander wished for me to come here.”

Jon nodded and moved to grab Aemon’s other hand and helped him walk and sit down in a chair by the fire. The Lord Commander entered the room at that moment. “Ah Aemon, you’re here good. Sit Jon.”

So Jon sat, in a chair next to Maester Aemon, Sam went to leave but Mormont bade him stay.  Mormont coughed and then spoke. “You did well yesterday Jon. Quick thinking and reactions. Good work.”

Jon blushed. “It was Ghost my lord, not me.”

Mormont laughed. “Aye where is your direwolf?”

“Gone hunting.” Jon replied.

“Ah mores’ the shame. I had something I meant to give him. Anyway that can wait. I have something to give you.” Jon watched as Mormont brought forth a sword in a sheath, and then passed it to Jon. “Unsheathe it Jon.” Mormont said.

And so he did. He gasped when he looked at it. It was a longsword that much was clear, but it was not as big as Ice was, but it was bigger than Mormont’s own sword Longclaw. It was coloured pure silver steel, with ripples of flame across it, and on its pommel was the head of a direwolf, a white one. “It’s beautiful,” Jon said in an awed tone.

“Good. I’m glad you like it Jon. It’s yours.” Mormont said.

Jon looked at the Old Bear confused. “But my lord,” he began.

“But nothing,” Mormont interrupted him. “You did the Night’s Watch a great service last night, and this is your reward, take it. Aemon tell Jon the story of the sword.”

Jon turned to Maester Aemon, as the maester took a deep breath and began to speak. “The sword you hold in your hand Jon, is called Winter’s Fury. It once belonged to a former Lord Commander called Brynden. He gave the sword to your great grandfather’s brother one Brandon Stark before he left for a ranging. The Lord Commander told him that he no longer had need of the sword and that it was for Brandon to do with as he pleased. Brandon Stark was honoured by the gift and so wielded the sword for many a year, until he died during a ranging some twenty years ago. The sword has been kept in Castle Black ever since.”

“And you wish for me to have it?” Jon asked confused.

“Yes. It was once a Stark sword, and it is only right that a Stark should wield it once more.”

Jon wanted to point out that he was not a Stark, that he was not even a Snow, he was a Sand. But looking at the expectant expression in Mormont’s eyes and the hopeful one in Sam’s he could do nothing more than simply nod and say, “Very well then. I’m honoured.” And that was how he came to have his own Valyrian Steel sword.

* * *

**Eddard**

The journey to King’s Landing had been long and tiring and not without incident. When Bran had fallen, he had begged Robert to delay his departure for a few days, but his friend- no the king- would not hear of it. And so Ned had had to leave Winterfell, and his wife and his sons without ever getting to say a proper goodbye to them. Catelyn had wept and wept when it had come time for him to go, she had begged him not to leave to say here in Winterfell with her and their sons, to tell Robert to go to the seven hells, and he had had to gently tell her he could not do that, he had to find whoever had killed Jon Arryn and bring them to justice, he had to help Robert run the realm and lessen Lannister influence. She had sniffed then and bade him a cold farewell, it still hurt to think about it.

Then there had been the incident in the Riverlands on the Kingsroad, with Arya, Joffrey, Sansa and the butcher’s boy. Joffrey accused Arya and her direwolf of attacking him, and Arya said that Nymeria was simply defending her. They both gave counter stories, and Ned knew that Robert would be able to act against his heir in public, at least not with the Lannister woman present, and so he had asked Sansa to tell her side of the story. Ned had hoped that she might put her loyalty to her family before her feelings for Joffrey, but alas she was only a eleven year old girl, and she was scared too, and so she had spoken up for Joffrey much to Arya’s discontent. The queen had ordered Lady executed, Ned had pleaded with Robert, such a measure was not necessary, Arya had already lost her direwolf, there was no need for Sansa to suffer, but Robert- the king- was so much different than Robert his friend. The boy he had grown up with would have never listened to Cersei Lannister, he would have been outraged at the injustice being heaped on Sansa, he would have refused to have Lady executed, but that Robert was not the same Robert that Robert had perhaps died when Lyanna had died. Robert allowed the execution to take place. Ned decided to do it himself, and Sansa he thought had not forgiven him for it, and that hurt too.

Throughout the rest of the journey to King’s Landing his girls were not speaking to each other, Joffrey walked around with an arrogant swagger and the Queen seemed smug and happy with herself. The words Ashara had said to him before they had left Winterfell kept playing in his head- _There is something wrong with that boy Ned. I know not what it is. But the fact that he would lie about something that we both know and that your child killing friend know happened, that is something not even Rhaegar or Aerys would do-_ Even though it chilled him to think of it, he admitted that her words did make sense. Joffrey had been beaten to an inch of unconsciousness by Jon when he had insulted Jeyne and Ashara, and Jon had had to take the black. Joffrey had done something wrong in the Riverlands, and the butcher’s boy and Nymeria and Lady had paid for it. Ned saw the way Joffrey’s eyes seemed to glow with menace whenever he spoke to Arya or Tommem or Myrcella, but when he was in front of Sansa and his lady mother he was the perfect gentlemen. Ned knew there was something wrong with the boy, but what it was he knew not.

They had arrived in King’s Landing at roughly the same time that Jeyne and Ashara had arrived in Starfall- they had ridden with the Royal Party as far as Seagard, before boarding a ship and heading off to Starfall due to Jeyne’s ill health- upon arriving in King’s Landing Ned had found that he had his work cut out for him. He quickly discovered that Robert did not bother to attend small council meetings and instead preferred to spend his time drinking and whoring. It fell to Ned to deal with the huge debt that the throne had, it fell to him to settle disputes between this lord and that lord, and it fell to him to organise the foolish tourney that Robert had decreed be held in his honour as Hand.

All the while he was trying to find out more about who killed Jon Arryn, some of his investigations led him to speak with Pycelle about how Jon Arryn had suddenly fallen ill and whether or not poison may have been used. Varys told him to speak with Jon’s former squire but that did not work out for the man was killed during the Tourney. Lord Baelish, a man Ned knew not to trust, led him down the path of looking at Robert’s Bastards and pointed him toward a book he had been reading before he had died. A book about the heritages of the great houses and their lineages, at first it had seemed like nothing more than a dull read and he could not truly understand why Jon had been reading this book. Then Catelyn had come to King’s Landing.

She came with a Valyrian steel dagger that she said had been used in an attempt to end Bran’s life and hers the fact that she was still alive she said was mainly because of Bran’s direwolf. She said that the man who had wielded the dagger had been hiding out in the stables of Winterfell for some time, and had likely come with Robert’s party to Winterfell. Catelyn also told him that she believed that the Lannisters were behind Bran’s fall and perhaps the attempt on Bran’s life. Something that she became even more convinced of when Lord Baelish told them that the dagger in question had once belonged to him, but had since switched hands to belong to one Tyrion Lannister just before Robert had ridden for Winterfell. That had convinced Catelyn, but Ned still had his doubts. Why would Tyrion wish to kill Bran if he had visited him in Winterfell and given him a gift, it made no sense, there had to be another reason for it. But Catelyn had been convinced that it was the Imp who had done it, and so he had relented but he had begged her before she had ridden off to be safe and to be careful.

Then Varys had brought news from across the narrow sea that Danaerys Targaryen was pregnant, and Robert had wanted her killed. Ned had argued fiercely against it, they were not child killers; Danaerys Targaryen was an innocent girl who had done no wrong against Robert or Ned. She had not been the one to steal Lyanna away in the dead of the night, she had not whispered sweet words filled with love his sister, she had not been the one whose actions had caused the realm to bleed fifteen years ago, why should she pay the price then for her brother’s folly?  Robert would hear none of it, ever since they had heard that Rhaegar had taken Lyanna all those years ago, he held a deep seated hatred for all things Targaryen, a hatred that had not cooled even after fifteen years of peace on the Iron Throne. He said he wanted the girl, her child and her brother dead and he wanted them dead now. Ned could not believe what he was hearing, the Robert Baratheon he knew was not a child killer, but then he thought on what Cat had told him in Winterfell those many moons ago, the Robert who sat before him drinking and arguing and bellowing was not the Robert he had known as a boy, was not the man who he had fought beside during the rebellion, this man was a stranger to him and he wanted nothing to do with him. So he told Robert to do as he saw fit, and told him that he was resigning the handship.

Robert blustered and bellowed, but Ned walked out of the council chambers with a much freer conscience than he had walking into it that morning. He had asked Vayon to go looking for the fastest ship that could take himself and his girls home. And he had thought perhaps on the way back they could stop in Dragonstone and he could speak with Stannis Baratheon and see what it was that he and Jon Arryn had been researching when Jon had died and Stannis had fled. Then Littlefinger had come and told him that he had something of import to show him, something to do with why Jon Arryn had been killed.

He led him to a brothel where a babe was suckling on her mother’s teat. The babe was named Bella and there was no mistaking whose child she was. Robert’s dark hair and blue eyes were evident in her face and Ned was taken back in time to the Vale and a similar girl whose name was Mya and whose mother had been some serving girl Robert had bedded at a feast, and soon forgotten about. “Are you well looked after child?” Ned asked Bella’s mother. She was no older than Lya had been when she had died in a bed of blood.

“Yes, but please my lord tell him I’ve been with no other since, tell him I love him and that Bella loves him. You’ll tell him won’t you?” The girl asked. “Promise me you’ll tell him.” _Promise me Ned._

Ned shivered in the warm summer light. “Aye I’ll tell him.”

Littlefinger led him out of the brothel and then turned to him. “Do you see it now, do you understand why you must stay here, why you cannot leave?”

Ned looked at the man, at Cat’s friend he wanted to reply but found he could not and besides by the time he found the words to speak, another man was calling him.

“Lord Stark, what a delightful surprise.” It was Jaime Lannister dressed gilded golden armour the lion of Lannister.

“Ser Jaime,” Ned began. “What can I do for you?”

“I would have words with you.” The man replied.

Ned looked around him, “Do these words require you to bring twenty armed men, can we not have discussion like civilised men?”

“That depends my lord,” the Kingslayer replied.

“Depends? On what?” Ned asked.

“On why your wife has taken my brother hostage to the Vale.”

Ned groaned, _Cat what have you done,_ “Because I asked her to.” He said.

“Very well then,” Jamie Lannister drew his steel.

“I’ll get help,” he heard Littlefinger say.

Ned drew his own sword. Then it was the dance of steel on steel, a dance he had not had since the Tower of Joy. His sword clashed with Lannister men’s swords he cut the throat of one man, he pierced the chest of another, he gutted the third. Beside him Jory Cassel, Wyl and Hullen fought the Lannister men. He had a distant memory of six wraiths fighting in the heat of Dorne many years ago, but he was torn from his memory by the sound of screaming he turned to see Hullen fall to the ground a sword through his throat. Wyl soon fell as well.

Jory was next; the Kingslayer pierced his throat with his gilded sword and tore him in two. Ned felt the rage, wolf’s blood that he had never truly suffered from- not like Brandon and Lya- take a hold of him then, and he fought like a man possessed. He hacked and slashed at the Kingslayer; he nicked and dented the man’s armour, just as the man nicked him. He cut the man across the check and was just about to lunge in for another strike when he felt a sharp pain in his leg, one of the Lannister men had buried their spear in his left leg.

He was forced to kneel down on the ground. He saw Jaime Lannister kill the offending man and then he felt the cold steel of the man’s sword on his throat. “You have been warned Lord Stark.”

The man rode off then galloping on his warhorse, perhaps back to Casterly Rock, Ned knew not, nor did he truly care. His leg hurt to high hell, he fell over trying to get to Jory, that was how Littlefinger and the City Watch found him, spread eagled on the ground his hand near Jory Cassel’s face, blood pouring from the wound in his leg.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Flames Of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War begins to creep into Westeros.

**Alys**

Winterfell was a much bigger castle than Karhold. That much was for sure. Where Karhold had been a strong fortified but small castle, Winterfell seemed like a behemoth in comparison.  And even with the large part of the household having gone south with Lord Eddard, there were still plenty of people to fill out the vacant jobs that had been left, there were still plenty of people to till the fields, see to the stores and to make steel in the forge. There were times of course, where Alys missed Karhold. When the stress of being the lady of Winterfell got too much she would often think of her mother and her siblings back home in Karhold, and the easy life she had had back then.

Of course her husband did much to ease her home sickness and tiredness. Many a night once Bran and Rickon had been put to bed they would talk to one another in their chambers and would often end the night making love, finishing sprawled out on the bed their clothes a jumble of disarray. She knew Robb was doing his best to manage as Lord of Winterfell in his father’s absence. He was working so hard that sometimes he would not come to bed till the early hours of the morning, the first rays of sunlight beginning to creep through. She knew that when his mother- Lady Catelyn- had kept her vigil beside Bran’s bedside, Robb had shouldered all the responsibility and the burden, and it had started to get to him, there were lines and creases forming on his handsome face, and there were worry lines constantly present as well.

Then the assassin had come, and tried to kill Bran and Lady Catelyn, and then everything had gone mad. Lady Catelyn had told them how she had received a letter from her sister blaming the Lannisters- especially the Queen- for her husband, Jon Arryn’s death, and she believed that the Lannisters had been behind this attack as well, and so she had set off for King’s Landing to speak with Lord Eddard, and seek justice.  Whilst they waited to receive word from either Lady Catelyn or Lord Eddard, Tyrion Lannister had come to Winterfell. Now with the whole of Winterfell having heard of the attack on their lady and their lady’s son, and with Robb having taken his mother’s warnings of the Lannisters to heart, it was no surprise that that the Lannister’s reception on his way back to King’s Landing had been a cold one.

She could have cut the tension in the room with a knife, and still had some left over. Oh Lord Tyrion was polite enough, but she could see the way his eyes were sizing Robb up, the way they were analyzing his every word and action, it was almost as if he was plotting something, something that might explain why the Lannisters were behind Bran’s attack. And then he had gone and surprised them all by giving Bran a saddle to allow him to ride again. That had completely stumped all of them, though Lord Tyrion had claimed that he was merely doing Robb’s cousin Jon a favour.  After they had retired, she could tell that Robb was beginning to have his doubts about the Lannisters being involved- well perhaps not all the Lannisters maybe just Lord Tyrion- and she also knew that the golden curl they had found in the Broken Tower must have come from a Lannister. So she was not surprised when Robb had asked her whether or not he should ask Tyrion to make some enquiries about the curl. She had told him to sleep on it and decided in the morning, for she had had more important news to tell him, she was pregnant.

Robb’s face had changed then. It had gone from being completely somber and serious to complete joy, he had smiled and kissed her and kissed her till they were both breathless, and then had asked, “Are you sure?”

She had laughed then and smiled. “Of course I’m sure Robb. I haven’t bled for two moons now.”

He had smiled then, not the lord’s smile he often used in court, but a true and proper smile, the smile he had had on the day of their wedding.

Letters had been sent to Karhold and King’s Landing to inform their parents about the good news. Letters of congratulations had been received from both locations, though the letter from King’s Landing had come with a curious note from Lord Eddard. He wrote that the girls were well but that they had met misfortune on the road, and that the hammer would soon be striking the anvil. She had not been able to make sense of what he had written and had for one moment thought that perhaps the stress of being Hand was getting to her good father. When she had turned to voice her doubts to Robb, she had been taken aback to see a look of deep concentration on his face, she asked what the matter was and his answer surprised her.

“Something must be going on in King’s Landing, something bad. Father never speaks about the hammer unless something bad’s happening.”

Alys had been intrigued. “How so?”

Robb had turned from the letter and looked at her, his Tully blue eyes fixed. “When we were little, that is I and Sansa and later Jon, father always used to tell us about the hammer and the anvil, you know the story of Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor.”

Alys nodded, every child in the seven kingdoms knew that song.

Robb went on. “Well father always used to say to us, that the hammer was the striking point, the weapon that could cause all matter of chaos should it strike the right point. The anvil was that point, should it be struck all matter of problems would occur.”

“So you or your father believes that something is in the offing. Something big. Something chaotic?” Alys asked curious.

Her husband had put on his “Robb the lord face” as Theon had taken to calling it and said solemnly. “Aye, I do, and my father must do. With the attack on Bran and the golden hair we find in the broken tower, something must be stirring. And you know our house words?”

She nodded. “Winter is coming.” Robb nodded.

That had been nigh on two weeks ago, and still they had heard not a word from Lady Catelyn, and Alys knew her husband was worried. In fact she knew that the whole of Winterfell was worried. She desperately hoped that her good mother had done nothing rash on her way down to or back from King’s Landing. She knew that the Tully Words were Family, Duty, and Honour and in that order, she only hoped that Lady Catelyn knew when they were applicable and when they were not.

 

But of course there was very little point worrying over that now, life had to go on. Robb had decided to take Bran riding on his new horse Dancer riding on the saddle made from Lord Tyrion’s instructions. With Robb and Bran would be Theon and several guards from Winterfell, for they would be venturing into the Wolfswood to hunt. Alys was staying behind, not out of choice though, Maester Luwin had told her that riding during a pregnancy could be very damaging for the babe, or babes and thus she was confined to simply walking around the yard.

That didn’t stop her coming to the courtyard to see Robb, Bran and Theon off though. She smiled when she saw how happy Bran was on Dancer, and how he was riding the horse up and down the courtyard, it was nice seeing a smile on his face for a change. Robb and Theon were trading japes, and Rickon was stood beside her, Shaggydog on his other side holding her hand and begging to go as well.

“When you’re older Rickon, maybe then and besides don’t you want to sword fight with Ser Rodrik?” Alys asked.

Rickon nodded enthusiastically, he was a sweet kid, always tailing after Bran and Robb and wanting to do whatever they wished to do. So she took his hand said goodbye to Robb and Bran, and then walked with him to the main yard where Rickon ran off to get fitted up with pads and a sword for a practice bout with wooden swords with Ser Rodrik.

As she watched Rickon practice with his wooden sword, she remembered times at Karhold when she would watch Torr and Ed and even sometimes Harrion practice in the yard. She remembered that Harrion was always the fiercest of her three brothers, and often fought against three opponents at once, supposedly to be ready for any battle that he had to fight but Alys suspected that perhaps it was because he simply wished to show off for the gaggle of girls that often followed him around.  Torr was the quickest of her three brothers when it came to sword fighting and apparently had what Karhold master of arms Denys Locke has termed a cat ’s eye. Ed was neither the quickest nor the fiercest, but he had the most skill, if it could be termed that. He never truly lost a bout against anyone other than their two brothers and even then she suspected that it was to boost their egos more than anything else.

She watched Rickon for about an hour before she decided to get up and take a look at the accounts. There was not much for her to actually look at but she thought she might as well do something rather than just sit around doing nothing. She found Maester Luwin in the main castle hustling and bustling about with the usual variety of things in his pockets and sleeves, it was a wonder he could move his arms at all.

“Ah my lady,” the maester said when he saw her. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if we could take a look at the accounts Maester Luwin. There was something I just wanted to double check.” Alys replied.

“The accounts?” Luwin asked. “Certainly, follow me.”

And so Alys followed Maester Luwin from the main hall of the main castle in Winterfell and to his tower and there they poured over the accounts from the last few months including the King’s visit. Alys was astounded by how much one simple visit- albeit a royal visit- had cost. She was surprised that Winterfell was still standing and financially capable after having had to pay for such a visit without raising taxes, if Karhold had had to host the King and his entourage they likely would have gone broke.

The surprise must have shown on her face, for she heard Maester Luwin chuckle. “Winter is not the only thing that the Starks are sure about. Winterfell knows how to get gold and pay its dues.”

“How?” Alys asked.

Maester Luwin gave her a cheeky grin and said “With many mystical and magical things my lady, as well as from the taxes and trade that come through the north.”

Alys was about to ask what mystical and magical things Winterfell had when she heard the sound of voices in the courtyard followed by growling, the growling of direwolves. “It must be Robb and Bran.” She said, Maester Luwin merely nodded and then followed her out of the room as she made her way down from the Maester’s tower and into the main courtyard.

Where she found her husband and good brother and Theon dismounting with a wildling hostage in chains walking behind her. Alys looked at Robb with her eyebrows raised questioningly.

Robb sighed and as he helped Bran onto Hodor’s back said. “We were attacked by wildlings in the wood.”

Alys felt her heart tighten at his words.

“One of them threatened Bran; we killed him and the others. There was only this one left.” He nodded to the woman who was in chains.

She began begging for mercy. “Please my lord, my lady. Please mercy, I’ll be good I’ll do whatever you want of me, I promise.”

Robb looked at her and she could see just how tired he was, but before she could say anything he spoke, with his ‘lord’s voice’. “You want mercy, very well then,” he looked to one of the guardsmen. “Take her to the maester’s tower for questioning.”

The guard hastened to obey. Soon the rest of the people gathered in the yard dispersed back to do their own jobs. Bran had Hodor carry him back to his room, summer trailing hot on his heels. Theon muttered something about going to see a lady friend of his. That just left herself, Robb and Greywind in the courtyard.

Robb sighed, as he watched Theon leave. “He’s not very happy with me I fear.” He sounded sad.

“Why, what happened in the woods?” Alys asked.

Robb sighed again. “Come walk with me back to our rooms and I’ll tell you,” and so they did as they walked Robb told her about the events of the Wolfswood and the hunt. “So you see one of the wildlings had his dagger to Bran’s throat. I couldn’t do anything otherwise Bran’d be dead. But Theon shot the arrow that killed the man, and I flipped out on him, because I was worried about Bran.” He sounded so sad, it was all Alys could do to comfort him that she squeezed his hand.

“You were right to be worried, but I think you should apologise to Theon, he was only doing his duty.” She said.

“I suppose you’re right.” Robb said wanly.

As they entered their rooms they found Maester Luwin and Theon standing by the doorway. Both with differing expressions on their faces, the old maester looked worried, Theon on the other hand looked angry.

“What seems to be the problem, Maester?” Robb asked.

“A raven came this morning my lord.” Luwin replied.

“Oh?” Robb asked holding out his hand for the raven so that he could read it.

He read it once, then twice, then thrice, each time his expression became more and more dire.

“What is it my lord?” Alys asked concerned.

Robb stopped looking at the letter and looked at her, “My mother’s taken Tyrion Lannister captive. She’s taken him to my aunt in the Vale for questioning. The Kingslayer attacked my father in the streets and killed his men in retaliation. My father lies injured and unconscious on a bed in King’s Landing.”

She was shocked, she knew not what to say. But it seemed Theon did. “You must make them pay for this Robb. Blood for Blood.”

Robb merely looked at Theon then at Maester Luwin, and then at her and their babe who was growing in her stomach. And she felt her heart beginning to pound. Winter was truly coming.

* * *

**Catelyn**

It had been pure coincidence she realised now that her path back to Winterfell, back home had brought her into contact with Tyrion Lannister. Her sojourn to King’s Landing had been fruitful to say the least. She had come with Ser Rodrik just as the sun was beginning to set and darkness was about to take hold, and yet she had been welcomed by a man in Petyr’s service. How Petyr had come to know of her visit still confused her and worried her slightly, were there spies in Winterfell working for him as there surely were working for the Spider.

The men Petyr had sent for her, had led her to one of the many brothels that her childhood friend had owned, and there she had found him waiting for her a friendly smile on his lips. They had reminisced about old times and talked about various  news, if there was one thing that Peytr had always been good at, it was talking and knowing things that perhaps he shouldn’t have known. Like the fact that he knew why she was here in King’s Landing and even asked to see the knife that the assassin had been used. He had told her that he had once owned the knife but had lost it in a bet during Joffrey’s name day tournament to the Imp.

She had been baffled and confused, why would the Imp want Bran dead? What could he possibly hope to gain from seeing her little boy dead? Of course she had kept such questions to herself, until Ned had come. Ned had nearly throttled Petyr to death when he had seen where she was staying it had taken her several long moments to calm him down once she had popped her head outside the window. That had stirred forth an old memory, one she had long thought she had forgotten, of another Stark, a wilder Stark duelling Petyr and nearly killing him until she had begged him to spare her friend’s life.

She had quickly tried to shake the memory away as Ned entered the establishment and walked to her room and into her arms. Oh it had felt so good to hold him again, it had been far too long, and she missed him terribly still. Of course they had little time to reconnect; she had very little time to spare in King’s Landing if she did not wish to draw the Lannisters’ attention. And so she had told Ned everything that had happened since he had left all those moons ago, she spoke of the attack and the assassin and the blade he carried. When Petyr told Ned how he had lost the dagger to Lord Tyrion, Ned’s face had changed from confusion to anger, back to confusion again. The change was so quick that unless you knew how to spot it, it would go unnoticed. But Catelyn had been married to Ned for fifteen years now, she knew how to read him.

He had been cautious in his response to Petyr’s claims and had asked her to be most careful on her return north; she had asked the same of him. Petyr had promised to help Ned in his investigations of Jon Arryn’s death as well as the attempt on their Bran’s life. Varys had been present during the discussion and yet had remained oddly silent throughout it, and yet she had not missed the knowing glint in his eyes when Petyr had said goodbye to her, his hands lingering longer than was strictly appropriate. Ned had seen too, but she had eased any worries he might have had by kissing him squarely on the mouth in front of everyone and saying she loved him, only him before she said goodbye and rode away on her horse, Ser Rodrik as her companion.

She had not meant to linger long in the inn where they had set up for the night. It was meant only for the night and then they would ride back through the Neck and on to Winterfell. But something about her was it her movements or was it something else, had given her away to Lord Tyrion who had entered the inn at the most inconvenient of times, with a group of men from the Night’s Watch. He had recognised her and had begun speaking to her, blowing her and Ser Rodrik’s cover, and possibly giving him something to be suspicious about to report back to his sister, which could have caused Ned no round of trouble in King’s Landing.

And besides Petyr had said the dagger belonged to Tyrion now, and so she had done what the Tully family words said, she took Tyrion Lannister a hostage for the good of her family, with the help of men sworn to her father, to fulfil her duty. She had taken him captive and despite his protests that he had had nothing to do with the attempt on Bran’s life, she had taken him to the Vale, to the Eyrie, where she was convinced her sister Lysa would help bring him to justice. She had been sorely mistaken. They were first assaulted by men of the mountain clans on their way to the Vale, and only saved by some rogue sellsword who had happened to be in the inn the same time as them. And then when they got to the Eyrie, she was not greeted warmly nor was she thanked by her sister for bringing one of the people she had accused of killing her lord husband here for justice. Her sister accused her of committing a grievous folly.

Lysa herself was not what Catelyn was expecting. Gone was the carefree girl she remembered from her youth. In her place, it seemed was a woman, who looked and acted older than she was, hell she acted older than even Catelyn herself was, she seemed to see shadows and knives everywhere. Her son eight year old Robert was a sickly little boy, and still at his mother’s breast, much to Catelyn’s horror. The imp had been right, her sister was much changed, and not for the better.

After accusing her of folly, Lysa began conducting her own trial of Tyrion Lannister. She accused him of killing her lord husband, and of several other crimes. The imp played her for a fool, using that gilded tongue of his to worm and slither his way out of many a tight spot. And then when he demanded trial by combat, her fool of a sister granted it to him.

The day of the trial, she learnt from Ser Rodrik that Tywin Lannister had amassed a host at Casterly Rock and was not replying to any of her brother Edmure’s ravens. She learnt that Ned had been attacked in the streets of King’s Landing by the Kingslayer because she had taken the Imp. She thought with some horror about what her actions had caused, then she thought back to the Imps adamant denial of having any involvement in the attempt on Bran’s life or the murder of Jon Arryn, and how when she had told him that Petyr had told her where the dagger had come from, when she had seen the look in the Imp’s mismatched eyes, she had felt a sliver of doubt begin to creep into her system. Could it be possible that the Imp spoke true and that Petyr had lied to her, and Ned? She did not know what to believe, but she had hoped to convince Lysa to abandon the foolish trial, and yet her sister would not relent.

And so she had watched unable to do anything as Ser Varis Edgen one of the men parts of the guard at the Eyrie had fought in her sister and nephew’s name, and as the sellsword Bronn fought for the Imp. And she watched as Bronn killed Ser Varis with a thrust to the throat, and then to the heart. She watched rooted to the spot, as Tyrion Lannister was declared innocent of the crimes laid before him, by the laws of gods and men he was innocent, and her sister was not happy. Lysa screamed and yelled at the injustice of it all, Robert Lysa’s sickly son cried and cried that he wanted the ‘bad man’ to fly. Amongst it all Tyrion Lannister stood, triumphant, a smirk on his ugly face, triumph written in his mismatched eyes.

He left the Vale that same day, likely to head back to Casterly Rock or perhaps to the Golden Tooth, where it was rumoured Lord Tywin’s’ army was marching to now. Wherever he went to Catelyn cared not, her actions had been folly, taking Tyrion Lannister had been folly, bringing him to the Vale had been folly. It had brought her nothing, Ned had been hurt because of her actions, and her girls’ lives put in danger now. All she wished to do now was to go home, back to Winterfell and her boys and her good daughter, and welcome her grandchild into the world.

Then word had come of the battle of the Golden Tooth, the smashing of the forces under Lord Vance and Piper’s command. The Kingslayer was marching on Riverrun, as vengeance for an act Catelyn had committed. She felt horrible, she felt like a foolish girl. To make matters worse, relations between herself and her sister were strained, more so than they had ever been when they were girls. Lysa was scared, scared that she had incurred the wrath of Tywin Lannister, scared that the might of House Lannister was going to march down upon them at any moment.

It was because of this Catelyn told herself, that when she offered to foster Robert Arryn in Winterfell, that her sister replied “If you ever, every suggest that or try to make it happen, I will throw you out of the moon door. Kin or no.” Catelyn tried not to think that her sister had become as mad as King Aerys, that there was something of the innocent girl who had ridden south to King’s Landing all those years ago, that there was still something of the girl she had grown up with who liked songs and knights, almost as her own Sansa did. Worryingly, she found herself coming up short, and vastly so.

They left for Gulltown three days after the raven came bearing news of the battle of the Golden Tooth. Catelyn’s Uncle Ser Brynden the blackfish accompanied her and Ser Rodrik. He said that he was fed up with Lysa’s petulant displays, that her father and her mother would be ashamed of her. He decided he wished to come north with her, to meet the great nephews he had heard so much about. It was whilst they were at Gulltown that they learnt of Ned’s arrest. The talk in the streets was that he had killed Robert, to claim the throne for himself, or that he had conspired with Lord Stannis to take the throne and denounce Joffrey Both explanations sounded farfetched and untrue to Cat’s ears, her Ned was not like that. He hated trickery and deceit. At Gulltown they heard of the battle of Mummer’s Ford of how Gregor Clegane had killed the men Ned had sent out to bring him to justice. They learnt of the battle of Riverrun, of her brother Edmure’s capture.

Throughout it all she could only berate herself for her foolish actions. She had taken Tyrion, and was the reason behind this chain of events. Had she not taken Tyrion, then none of this would have happened. It made her once again begin to doubt the words Petyr had told her, the sincerity in his eyes when he had told her that the dagger she held was Tyrion Lannister’s. She remembered how when they were children, Petyr would always tag along after her like a lost puppy and how Lysa would tag along after him. She remembered how when Brandon Stark had come visiting before Harrenhal, how Petyr had challenged him for her hand in marriage, and how after Brandon had beaten him bloody he had been sent away by her lord father.  She thought about all of this and shuddered. She had been a fool.

When they got to White Harbour, she found out that Robb had called the banners. The North had woken from its slumber, with vengeance in its heart. Winter was coming and war was upon Westeros.

* * *

**Ashara**

Dorne was always hot during the summer. It was something that had both frustrated and delighted Ashara throughout her life. It was why when she had thought herself and Ned were to be married, she had been slightly sad that she would have to leave it, it had been her home for many a year. But then Ned had married Catelyn Tully in his brother’s place, and she had been left behind in Starfall, with a bastard daughter and a boy she claimed and came to love as her son. Her marriage prospects became fewer once it became common knowledge that she had not one but two bastard children, but she didn’t mind, she didn’t care.  With Ned gone, she no longer had any desire to leave Starfall let alone Dorne, which was why she rejected every suitor that came wanting to claim her hand, be they from Dorne or from anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms, she had heard all they had to say and she had rejected them all.

Besides it was a full time job she had at Starfall. Allem’s wife had died giving birth to Edric, so it had fallen to her to play both the mother to her own children and Edric and Allyria. She simply had not had the time to consider a life away from Starfall, not that she would have anyway. She liked it at Starfall, after so many years in King’s Landing and the stuffiness and the intrigues of the court, and the constant worry that Aerys would turn his mad lust or attentions to her or her friends; she was quite relieved by the normality that Starfall offered her.

Her children were her sole poles to life and normalcy. Jon was a quiet baby, so much so that he reminded her of Ned, there seemed not to be a hint of Targaryen in his features nor his personality as he grew up into the fine young man he was today. In fact Allem had even joked that there seemed to be more of her in him than the north, especially when it came to Jeyne. She had hoped and prayed that the two of them would get along as they grew, and they had. In fact Jon and Jeyne’s relationship reminded her lot of Oberyn and Elia’s relationship, or even her and Arthur’s relationship. Jon played the protective brother and would always, always pick a fight with anyone who dared challenge or question Jeyne’s integrity or even her right to life. Though of course there were few of such people in Dorne, though from what Jeyne had told her, there had been quite a few in the north.

Of course she had been there when Jon had been brought before the king and Ned to answer for the ‘crime’ of punching the crown prince. She knew that Jon did not like Prince Joffrey, neither did Jeyne. But of course Joffrey was the prince, and was also the son of Ned’s oldest friend, and so whilst Jon spoke the truth about what had happened, Joffrey spun some atrocious lie about her boy being a savage- if he wanted to see real savages, or real anger, he need only say more, she had thought- Jon had had to at the end of it take the black. She had been seething with anger over that decision. She knew that Jon had been in two minds over his own decision over whether or not to join the Night’s Watch. It seemed that little ploy Jeyne had used back in Winterfell had created enough doubt in his mind. But then Robert Baratheon, the child killer king had had the nerve to tell Jon that he had to go to the wall or face even more dire consequences. All the while Prince Joffrey stood next to his slut of a mother and grinned wickedly, like he had got away with some big crime- in fact he had gotten away with a big crime- afterwards, it had fallen to Ashara to comfort Jeyne, whilst she cried and cried. Jon had had to talk with Ned about whatever it was men talked about in situations like this.

She had been so angry with the king, with the prince, with Ned! How could he not speak sense to his oaf of a friend, when it was clear the boy was lying! The Eddard Stark she had known would never have tolerated such trickery to go on, especially when it was one of his own blood- or in this case, two of his own blood- involved! But he had meekly stood to the side as Robert Baratheon had sentenced Jon to the Night’s Watch. Later he had come and spoken to her, had pleaded with her that Jon joining the Watch was a good thing, that it would help protect him even more than he would be at Winterfell, or even Starfall! He said that there was a storm coming, that the Lannisters had killed Jon Arryn, and that they might have tried to kill his son. She had felt sympathetic toward him, this man she had given her heart to, but she could not, would not forgive him for allowing her son to be sent to the Wall simply because the king was too much of a coward to stand up to the slut he called his wife.

Eventually, her temper had cooled down enough that she had agreed to ride with the Starks as far as the Twins, where she and Jeyne would then take a ship from to reach Starfall. Before she had left Winterfell she and her daughter had said a tearful farewell to Jon, Jeyne clinging to him sobbing her apologies into his tunic, Jon had comforted her, reassured her it was not her fault, keeping his voice calm as he so often was when speaking with Jeyne, but then he had said goodbye to Ashara, and he had broken down then, cried tears and sobbed into her hair. She had whispered promises to him then, promises that she would do all she could to free him of the Night’s Watch, for she had friends in the Watch, friends in high places, and she would call in many a favour to have her boy back with her, where he belonged.

Jeyne had fallen in on the ship from Seagard; something about the air had caused her to take a chill. Her direwolf, Sandy had howled and howled into the early hours of the morning, each day they had been on the ship, much to the other crew members and passengers distress, it was almost as if she could sense that something bad was about to hit them. As it turned out something bad did hit them, pirates from the Stepstones had ventured north in search of loot and plunder, attacked the crew and killed most of the members, and would have tried to attack Ashara and a bed ridden Jeyne had it not been for Sandy, who had torn the throats out of three of the pirates before the remaining three had been killed by Ironborn.  Ironborn aid was unexpected, Ashara knew they tended to stick to their own lands and only traded, especially since the failed Greyjoy rebellion. But the captain of the Ironborn that helped them went by the name of Asha Greyjoy, and told her that she did not want to see pirates hurt more innocent women and children. Asha helped Ashara and Jeyne onto her own ship and transported them to Starfall.

Jeyne was still ill upon their arrival to Starfall, though she was less ill than she had been aboard their ship from Seagard. Most days since they had returned she was abed, asleep with help from the milk of the poppy, when she was awake her daughter spent most of her time coughing up food or even more frighteningly blood. Jeyne had always had a frail health, but she was strong of mind and spirit if not of body, and had lived longer than the maesters had thought she had any right to.  There were times when her daughter reminded her so much of Elia, it hurt. She prayed and prayed that her daughter would find the happy ending that her friend could not, she prayed that her son would come back home, she prayed they could be a family again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She called for whoever it was to enter and found her looking and her daughter’ sworn sword. Ser Arthur was a tall man, with a sturdy build; his hands were lined with calluses from years of sword practice. He had blond almost silver hair and violet eyes, and had been her daughter’s sworn sword since Jeyne had been three, before that he had served as the master of arms for Starfall. He was a serious man, with a handsome face, but more often than not that face was lined with thought, he had been the one to train her son the finer arts of sword fighting, when Jon had still been a child.

 “My lady forgive me for the interruption,” Ser Arthur began as he closed the door. “I only meant to come and ask you, how is the Lady Jeyne doing?”

“It is no bother Ser Arthur, I was not doing anything. Jeyne is doing well, better than she has been for the last few days. Maester Berwick says that the fever should break soon.” She smiled up at him, this man she had known her whole life.

Ser Arthur gave her an uneasy smile then. “That is good my lady,” he hesitated.

“What is wrong Ser Arthur? Does something trouble you?” she asked, as always able to figure out if something was wrong with him without him having to ever say a word.

“Yes, no, I am not sure my lady, Ashara.” He replied, it had been so long since he had called her anything but Lady Ashara, that she felt hope bloom in her chest. “Word has come from the Water Gardens, Prince Oberyn rides for Starfall with his daughters and his paramour Ellaria Sand, and some fifty armed men.”

Ashara nodded and asked. “Why does this worry you Ser Arthur? Prince Oberyn is no foe to me or mine.”

She saw Ser Arthur swallow nervously, “It is said he brings dire tidings Ashara. I know not what tidings he brings, but I fear it may be to do with your son.”

Ashara felt her heart tighten then, what could have happened to Jon? She had been working on getting him out of the Night’s Watch before he had said his vows, but that had not worked, now she was working desperately to give the Lord Commander excuse to free him without having to execute him.

Arthur knew not what news Oberyn brought, nor did Maester Berwick. Oberyn arrived three days later as the sun began to rise on the horizon, he rode a black stallion, his paramour Ellaria, and the four eldest sand snakes, Obara, Nymeria, Tyene and Sallera rode with him.

Ashara greeted them along with Allyria and Ser Arthur, Jeyne was still bed ridden but she was awake. She greeted Oberyn and Ellaria like long lost friends. “Ah Oberyn, Ellaria it has been too long. Where have you been?”

Ellaria smiled and Oberyn laughed. “Busy with my brother, keeping Dorne under control. You know my daughters I trust.”Ashara nodded of course she did, the Sand Snakes were as in famous as their father, but they were all her friends and allies to her family.

Once they had all been settled in and rested Allyria led Nymeria, Sarella and Obara away from the Lord’s solar, and to explore the grounds. Ashara, Ellaria, Oberyn, Ser Arthur and Tyene Sand- Oberyn’s daughter- were the only ones left in the solar. Ashara cleared her throat. “I have known you for most of my life Oberyn. You do not usually move from Sunspear or the Water Gardens unless you have specific reason for doing so, not since Elia was alive have you wandered. So why are you here?”

Oberyn chuckled then. “So observant as ever Ashara. It is true what you say. I have come bearing dark words. Eddard Stark has been branded a traitor and has been locked in a black cell by the boy king and the Lannister woman.”

Ashara tried to keep her face neutral but couldn’t help but say. “That’s a lie, Ned would never betray Robert, never.”

Oberyn nodded. “I know Ashara, I know. Our sources in the city report that his youngest daughter, Arya I believe her name is, fled the city when her father was arrested. His oldest daughter Sansa remains a captive in King’s Landing, her brother has called his banners and marches for war.”

Ashara felt her chest tightening, she was good friends with Catelyn Tully, that Ned’s wife knew nothing about her relationship with Ned didn’t hurt, and she had grown fond of her children, she could not imagine how much this must be hurting her. But that could not solely explain why Oberyn was here. “So what has this to do with me?” she asked.

Oberyn snorted. “You know full well what it means. You might have fooled Doran by claiming Jon and Jeyne as that fool Brandon Stark’s but I’ve known you for far longer, and I know what you felt for Eddard Stark. I am here to propose a solution to this problem. The Iron Throne wishes to secure our alliance, and why not they are faced with enemies on either side. Doran will propose a betrothal between Trystane and Myrcella Baratheon. That will bring us closer to the throne, and closer to justice for Elia and her children. If they have any sense in King’s Landing they will agree to what my brother suggests. I will go as his representative to collect Princess Myrcella and to bring her to Dorne. Whilst there I will also try and help Ned, and his daughter escape and if I can find his little one as well.”

Ashara could not speak. Oberyn went on, “I will need your assistance though. Tyene will be accompanying me, but I will need Jeyne to come as well so that they know my intentions are honourable.” He stopped and looked at Ser Arthur then and said with a fierce tone in his voice, “We could not safe Elia, I will not let anymore innocents fall victim to the Lannisters nor their cruelty.”

It was all Ashara could do to nod and agree, she would go as well of course, Jeyne needed her, Allyria would be left to run Starfall alone. _I’ll save your children Ned, I won’t them meet the same fate as Elia and her babes._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. March Of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to GRRM for creating this amazing series. :)

**Robb**

He was marching to war. Here he was all of ten and five years of age and marching to war. The straw that had broken the camel’s back, the boy king on the throne Joffrey had arrested Robb’s father and had accused him of treason. Robb did not believe the accusation for a moment. His father would never betray King Robert, he would never do anything that went against his friend’s wishes, even if it went against his own- like sending Jon to the Wall- it was obvious to Robb that the Lannisters were trying to frame his father to hide their own crimes. He was convinced of this. They had tried to kill his brother twice, they were invading and pillaging his grandfather’s lands, and now they accused his father of treason. Yes they were definitely trying to cover up their own misdeeds.

Robb had called the banners, and the lords of the north had come. Lords Umber, Bolton, Glover, Hornwood, Karstark, Tallhart, Flint and Lady Mormont had all come to Winterfell with their men and their own sworn bannermen. Strategies had been discussed, and Robb knew that he would have to prove his mettle to these men and lady, they were seasoned warriors and would more than likely think him a green boy playing at war. He had known that he would have to prove himself every inch his father’s son. The first test had come at one of feasts held to welcome the Umbers to Winterfell. The Greatjon had been demanding that he lead the van instead of Lord Glover, and Robb had refused, the Greatjon had then gone onto question Robb, Robb had lost his temper then and Greywind had responded in kind by biting of two of the Greatjon’s fingers. The man had laughed and ever since then Robb had had the man’s unquestioning respect.

Strategies were discussed, and battle plans made and through it all there was one man, or rather one lord who remained quiet. Not saying a word, not doing anything. Lord Bolton. The man was eerily quiet at all times and it was unnerving. Robb remembered hearing stories about the Boltons from Old Nan when he was a boy, tales of how they were all flesh eaters or how they had fought with the Kings of Winter for centuries before the conquest before eventually bending the knee. Yes Robb thought he was in the right to remain suspicious of Lord Bolton, to a certain extent after all he did remember his father telling him that Lord Bolton had fought bravely during the rebellion and was also unlike some of his predecessors a loyal bannerman to Winterfell. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on him.

Another issue that Robb had had to face before they could actually begin the march south was who to leave in charge of the running of Winterfell. At present his mother and Ser Rodrik were still somewhere in the south, whether they were still in the Vale or nor Robb did not know, but until he did know he had planned on leaving Alys behind to help Bran run Winterfell. She had point blank refused to stay behind, insisting that if he was marching south so was she. Robb had argued with her, saying that her marching south was too risky, she was pregnant and could be carrying his heir, and whats more he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her to some incident on the field, he had begged and pleaded with her to stay in Winterfell, and she had point blank refused. She had said that if he was marching south so was she, she wanted to be there for him, and then she had told him she loved him and Robb had felt so helpless in that moment that he had reluctantly agreed that she could come, so long as she was guarded throughout the duration of the war. Her father had laughed when Robb had told him that Alys was coming, saying that she had always been strong willed even as a child.

With that sorted Robb had left Winterfell in the hands of Bran and Maester Luwin, leaving behind some 500 men to hold the castle. And then with the men mustered had marched south to Moat Cailin, where Lord Manderly had sent his son Ser Wylis with 1500 men to join them. Even at Moat Cailin there was further discussions on battle plans and the best way to attack the Lannisters. Some like the Greatjon urged them to march straight for the Green Fork and finish Tywin Lannister of one and for all, others such as Lords Glover, Karstark and Bolton argued it would be more prudent to strike the Kingslayer’s host and free Riverrun, due to the fact that the Kingslayer was much more rash than his father and would make a terrible decision along the way, Tywin Lannister was like to be more careful and calculated in his attacks.

That was when Robb’s mother had arrived. She had been gone for two moons and Robb had never been so happy or so relieved to see her. He had greeted her and then asked if she still had the Imp as a hostage, and was most disappointed when she said that she did not. Once the rest of the lords had been dismissed for the night and it was just himself, Alys and his mother in the hall, she asked him how he planned on freeing his father. He talked about perhaps splitting their host in two and giving command of the second host to Lord Umber whilst he marched further south to free Riverrun, but then after some consideration decided to give Lord Bolton command of the second host. It seemed his mother approved of this decision, and when he mentioned his suspicions of Lord Bolton, Alys suggested perhaps placing her brother Harrion in charge of some men and placing them with Lord Bolton’s host, for as she said, “Harry will be loyal Robb, he’ll keep an eye on Lord Bolton for you.” He had agreed and so had his mother.

Then had come trouble, they had been camped outside the Twins and were not able to pass, for Lord Walder Frey and his castle held the only available crossing to get south of the neck for miles around unless Robb wished to navigate round miles and miles of treacherous bogs, and swamps. Lord Frey had according to the scouts that Ser Brynden had set out called his swords to the Crossing, but as of yet whether he meant to declare for the Lannisters or not no one was sure, more than likely Robb’s mother argued he was biding his time waiting to see who the winner would be. Then it had become apparent, Walder Frey wanted something, it seemed that he wanted marriages for his children, as Robb was already taken, Bran and Arya ended up being betrothed to either a granddaughter or a grandson and Robb ended up taking on Walder Frey’s son Olyvar as a squire, even though Olyvar was many years older than him. The deal though was not all compromise on Robb’s part , for Walder Frey gave him an extra two thousand men, and only asked that some 400 men be left behind and so Robb agreed though he disliked selling his brother and sister off like they were cattle, and the northern host split into two, with Lord Bolton taking 16,000 men south to the Green Fork, whilst Robb marched further south to deal with the Kingslayer the siege of Riverrun.

They rode quickly and as quietly as possible, sending outriders to prevent any scouts from warning the Kingslayer of their approach, and when they entered the Whispering Wood, the foundations of the trap were being set. The Kingslayer was impulsive and would be prone to making rash decisions, Robb decided to play on that. He sent the outriders under his uncle the Blackfish bearing Tully colours to tempt the Kingslayer out of his camp, and whilst that was happening began harrying the Lannister supply trains along with some 1,000 men.  Once the men protecting the supply trains had been killed, Robb heard the horns sounding of Lady Mormont, Lord Umber and Lord Karstark bidding farewell to his wife and to his mother, Robb donned his helm and led the charge.

It was frenzy, there was a mass of bodies, armour and horses in Robb’s line of vision as he hacked and slashed his way through the Lannister host. He cut one man’s arm off, and felt it as Greywind then tore the man’s throat out. He then shoved his sword through the chest of a man wearing the crimson of the Lannisters, and then engaged in a dance of steel with a man wearing the boar of House Crakehall. Sparks flew from their swords as they both battered each other’s defences, swinging, hacking and cutting. Armour was dented, cuts were made and blood flowed from their wounds. Until eventually Robb gained the upper hand he feinted to the right, drawing the man out and then parried the man’s sword swing just as Greywind leapt from where he was on the ground and tore into the man’s throat.

Robb rode on, continuing the hacking and slashing and cutting through of men who stood in his path. Beside him Greywind tore the throats out of any man who wore Lannister livery that got past Robb’s guards or that Robb did not have the chance to kill himself. To his left, Eddard Karstark who served as part of his guard sliced through opponent after opponent just like Alys said he would, he glided through the ranks of Lannister men staining the ground and his sword red. To his right, Dacey Mormont another one of his guards used her morning star to cudgel several Lannister men to death, their heads caved in by the force of the blows from her weapon.

Robb continued hacking and slashing his way through the Lannister men, killing more and more men as he went, staining the grounds of the Whispering Wood red with Lannister blood. He felt hope begin to bloom in his chest, the Lannisters were losing, they were winning, and he was winning. Then he heard the Kingslayer’s voice. “STARK!” the man bellowed. “Come out and fight, or are you too craven?”

Robb bristled at the man’s taunts and would have rode on through the mass of bodies in his way had Dacey not put a restraining hand on his horse’s reins. “Leave him be,” she hissed. “We’ll deal with him.” Robb saw Daryn Hornwood advance forward sword raised, and watched horrified as his friend didn’t even land a blow on the Kingslayer’s person but was instead cut down and opened up from head to toe, his guts and insides pouring open. Next was Domeric Liddle another of his personal guard rode forward, Robb heard the clashing of steel and saw sparks flying before his very eyes as Domeric and the Kingslayer fought. For every blow Domeric landed on the Kingslayer, the man landed three on Domeric and then with one quick thrust the Kingslayer buried his sword into Domeric’s throat before he pulled it out and continued forward.

“Come on Stark, come out and fight!” The Kingslayer bellowed, Robb tense but Dacey would not let go of his horse’s reigns. Beside him he heard Greywind growl menacingly, Eddard Karstark rode forward then sword raised. And they danced. Karstark and Lannister danced the dance of steel. The Kingslayer thrust, Eddard parried, Eddard swung, the Kingslayer hacked. The exchanged blows and wounds and cuts and dents, until both were bleeding quite severly and then Eddard raised his sword once more but as he was bringing it down the Kingslayer thrust his sword forward and buried it deep within Robb’s good brother’s chest.

Eddard Karstark fell of off his horse and to the ground, his brother Torrhen rode up to take his place. But lasted less time than even Daryn Hornwood did, for he was already injured from the battle and missing a hand besides. The Kingslayer made short work of Robb’s other good brother and then spurred his horse forward, Wendel Manderly, Smalljon Umber and Owen Norrey all moved their horses forward in a protective arc around Robb, who sat stunned on his horse, Greywind growled menacingly.

“Move aside my lords and let me at the Young Wolf. Move aside and once he is dead, I shall ask my nephew to pardon you.” The Kingslayer said.

“Never,” replied Wendel Manderly.

“I would rather die than be pardoned by a Lannister.” Replied the Smalljon.

“We die before he does.” Owen Norrey replied.

“Very well then, die you shall.” Replied the Kingslayer as he drew his golden sword which was stained red with blood.

But before he could so much as move, an arrow came whizzing out of the air and pierced his horse’s neck, followed by several other arrows that pierced the rest of the horse’s body causing it to fall down to the ground, but not before the Kingslayer had jumped off of it. His sword still drawn he advanced forward, slowly, menacingly. Robb was rooted to the spot unable to move even if he wanted to, the men of his guard tightened up their arc of protection around him. Another arrow whizzed through the air and soared over the heads of the arc and landed just in front of the Kingslayer, stopping him and giving Ser Wendel just enough time to spur his horse forward far enough that he could club the Kingslayer with the flat end of his sword hard enough to knock the man out.

Robb turned to see a grinning Theon Greyjoy with his bow drawn. “Well that was fun.” Greyjoy said a hint of laughter in his voice.

“What would you like use to do with the Kingslayer my lord?” Owen Norrey asked.

Robb shook himself out of the daze he had been in and said, “Put him in chains. Finish of any Lannister soldiers you see trying to flee.”

The rest of the battle past in a blur for Robb, those men who were part of Jaime Lannister’s party in the Whispering Wood were either killed fighting or as they tried to flee, or taken prisoner. At the end of it Robb rode back to the clearing where his wife and mother awaited, riding not on the black stallion he had ridden out on, but on a brown warhorse, the Kingslayer dragged along in chains and thrown at his mother and wife’s feet.

Even in defeat the Kingslayer was cocky. “My ladies how very nice to see you. I would offer you my sword but I seem to have mislaid it.”

Robb’s mother looked at the man with cold eyes. “It is not your sword I want ser. Give me my father and my brother Edmure. Give me my daughters and my lord husband.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, I’ve mislaid them too, it would appear.”

“A pity.”

Robb continued looking at the Kingslayer as more words were bandied about, at the end though Robb had heard enough. “Take him away.” Men hastened to obey.

Later as he walked back to the campsite with his mother and wife by his side, he heard Alys ask. “Where are Torr and Ed Robb?”

Robb felt something tighten in his throat; he struggled to get the words out and could not look at his wife when he did speak. “He killed them, the Kingslayer did, he buried his sword and split them open. If I had been able to, had I not...” he trailed off unable to go on and terrified his wife would hate him now that her brothers were dead and he was responsible for their deaths.

But Alys reassured him. “You couldn’t have done anything my lord. Torr and Ed died doing their duty to their liege. We still must free Riverrun, and then we can grieve.”

His mother nodded. “You did well today Robb but Riverrun is still under siege and until it is freed this is not over.”

That night they retook Riverrun. The Lannister encampments surrounding Riverrun were left almost leaderless due to the capturing of the Kingslayer, and when the Blackfish set out that night, he was given orders to spare not a single soldier.  Robb watched his great uncle lead the men given to him and soon the shouts of Winterfell and Tully could be heard as could the screams of the Lannister men as they were killed in their tents by the flames of the torches or by the swords and spears through the chest as they hastily tried to put on armour and defend themselves. Then when Tytos Brax led the charge to try and defend his fellow Westerlanders Robb led his men into charge, and soon he had a chance to avenge the deaths of his fallen friends. He hacked down one man wearing the crimson red of the Lannisters. He cut open a man wearing the Brax colours and then he lopped of the head of a third man wearing the livery of House Westerling.

Men on Riverrun’s walls fired rocks at the rafts thus preventing more men from coming and helping their fellow comrades. Lord Umber fired the siege towers and broke the reserve of the Lannister men camped around Riverrun, and when the Lannister men led by Ser Tybolt Crakehall tried to form a shield wall to defend themselves they were cut down in the rear by a sortie led by Lord Blackwood.

Robb continued hacking and slashing at the Lannister soldiers, bloodying his sword and his armour and littering the ground with dead bodies as Greywind tore into any man Robb left behind or did not have the chance to deal with himself. He kept fighting, his sword never once went down or back into its sheath during the night, and when he heard the sounding of horns being blown, the sound of victory and he heard Greywind howl in response and saw the Lannister encampment aflame he felt something primal within him begin to stir, something hungry, and he tasted something that felt like victory and something that felt like justice.

Riverrun was free, for now.

* * *

**Sansa**

_The walls of the throne room had been stripped bare, the hunting tapestries that King Robert loved taken down and stacked in the corner in an untidy heap._

_Ser Mandon Moore went to take his place under the throne beside two of his fellows of the Kingsguard. Sansa hovered by the door, for once unguarded. The queen had given her freedom of the castle as a reward for being good, yet even so, she was escorted everywhere she went. "Honour guards for my daughter-to-be," the queen called them, but they did not make Sansa feel honoured._

_"Freedom of the castle" meant that she could go wherever she chose within the Red Keep so long as she promised not to go beyond the walls, a promise Sansa had been more than willing to give. She couldn't have gone beyond the walls anyway. The gates were watched day and night by Janos Slynt's gold cloaks, and Lannister house guards were always about as well. Besides, even if she could leave the castle, where would she go? It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella's garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods._

_This was the first court session of Joffrey's reign, so Sansa looked about nervously. A line of Lannister house guards stood beneath the western windows, a line of gold-cloaked City Watchmen beneath the east. Of smallfolk and commoners, she saw no sign, but under the gallery a cluster of lords great and small milled restlessly. There were no more than twenty, where a hundred had been accustomed to wait upon King Robert._

_Sansa slipped in among them, murmuring greetings as she worked her way toward the front. She recognized black-skinned Jalabhar Xho, gloomy Ser Aron Santagar, the Redwyne twins Horror and Slobber . . . only none of them seemed to recognize her. Or if they did, they shied away as if she had the grey plague. Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away._

_And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time._

_Grand Maester Pycelle was seated alone at the council table, seemingly asleep, his hands clasped together atop his beard. She saw Lord Varys hurry into the hall, his feet making no sound. A moment later Lord Baelish entered through the tall doors in the rear, smiling. He chatted amiably with Ser Balon and Ser Dontos as he made his way to the front. Butterflies fluttered nervously in Sansa's stomach. I shouldn't be afraid, she told herself. I have nothing to be afraid of, it will all come out well, Joff loves me and the queen does too, she said so._

_A herald's voice rang out. "All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm."_

_Ser Barristan Selmy, resplendent in white plate, led them in. Ser Arys Oakheart escorted the queen, while Ser Boros Blount walked beside Joffrey, so six of the Kingsguard were now in the hall, all the White Swords save Jaime Lannister alone. Her prince—no, her king now!—took the steps of the Iron Throne two at a time, while his mother was seated with the council. Joff wore plush black velvets slashed with crimson, a shimmering cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar, and on his head a golden crown crusted with rubies and black diamonds._

_When Joffrey turned to look out over the hall, his eye caught Sansa's. He smiled, seated himself, and spoke. "It is a king's duty to punish the disloyal and reward those who are true. Grand Maester Pycelle, I command you to read my decrees."_

_Pycelle pushed himself to his feet. He was clad in a magnificent robe of thick red velvet, with an ermine collar and shiny gold fastenings. From a drooping sleeve, heavy with gilded scrollwork, he drew a parchment, unrolled it, and began to read a long list of names, commanding each in the name of king and council to present themselves and swear their fealty to Joffrey. Failing that, they would be adjudged traitors, their lands and titles forfeit to the throne._

_The names he read made Sansa hold her breath. Lord Stannis Baratheon, his lady wife, his daughter. Lord Renly Baratheon. Both Lord Royces and their sons. Ser Loras Tyrell. Lord Mace Tyrell, his brothers, uncles, sons. The red priest, Thoros of Myr. Lord Beric Dondarrion. Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, the little Lord Robert. Lord Hoster Tully, his brother Ser Brynden, his son Ser Edmure. Lord Jason Mallister. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Lord Tytos Blackwood. Lord Walder Frey and his heir Ser Stevron. Lord Karyl Vance. Lord Jonos Bracken. Lady Sheila Whent. Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, and all his sons. So many, she thought as Pycelle read on and on, it will take a whole flock of ravens to send out these commands._

_And at the end, near last, came the names Sansa had been dreading. Lady Catelyn Stark. Robb Stark. Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Arya Stark. Sansa stifled a gasp. Arya. They wanted Arya to present herself and swear an oath . . . it must mean her sister had fled on the galley, she must be safe at Winterfell by now . . ._

_Grand Maester Pycelle rolled up the list, tucked it up his left sleeve, and pulled another parchment from his right. He cleared his throat and resumed. "In the place of the traitor Eddard Stark, it is the wish of His Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, take up the office of Hand of the King, to speak with his voice, lead his armies against his enemies, and carry out his royal will. So the king has decreed. The small council consents._

_"In the place of the traitor Stannis Baratheon, it is the wish of His Grace that his lady mother, the Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, who has ever been his staunchest support, be seated upon his small council, that she may help him rule wisely and with justice. So the king has decreed. The small council consents."_

_Sansa heard a soft murmuring from the lords around her, but it was quickly stilled. Pycelle continued._

_"It is also the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant, Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing, be at once raised to the rank of lord and granted the ancient seat of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, and that his sons and grandsons shall hold these honours after him until the end of time. It is moreover his command that Lord Slynt be seated immediately upon his small council, to assist in the governance of the realm. So the king has decreed. The small council consents."_

_Sansa glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye as Janos Slynt made his entrance. This time the muttering was louder and angrier. Proud lords whose houses went back thousands of years made way reluctantly for the balding, frog-faced commoner as he marched past. Golden scales had been sewn onto the black velvet of his doublet and rang together softly with each step. His cloak was checked black-and-gold satin. Two ugly boys who must have been his sons went before him, struggling with the weight of a heavy metal shield as tall as they were. For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. The sight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansa's arms._

_As Lord Slynt took his place, Grand Maester Pycelle resumed. "Lastly, in these times of treason and turmoil, with our beloved Robert so lately dead, it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey is of paramount importance . . . " He looked to the queen._

_Cersei stood. "Ser Barristan Selmy, stand forth."_

_Ser Barristan had been standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, as still as any statue, but now he went to one knee and bowed his head. "Your Grace, I am yours to command."_

_"Rise, Ser Barristan," Cersei Lannister said. "You may remove your helm."_

_"My lady?" Standing, the old knight took off his high white helm, though he did not seem to understand why._

_"You have served the realm long and faithfully, good ser, and every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. Yet now I fear your service is at an end. It is the wish of king and council that you lay down your heavy burden."_

_"My . . . burden? I fear I . . . I do not . . . "_

_The new-made lord, Janos Slynt, spoke up, his voice heavy and blunt. "Her Grace is trying to tell you that you are relieved as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."_

_The tall, white-haired knight seemed to shrink as he stood there, scarcely breathing. "Your Grace," he said at last. "The Kingsguard is a Sworn Brotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death may relieve the Lord Commander of his sacred trust."_

_"Whose death, Ser Barristan?" The queen's voice was soft as silk, but her words carried the whole length of the hall. "Yours, or your king's?"_

_"You let my father die," Joffrey said accusingly from atop the Iron Throne. "You're too old to protect anybody."_

_Sansa watched as the knight peered up at his new king. She had never seen him look his years before, yet now he did. "Your Grace," he said. "I was chosen for the White Swords in my twenty-third year. It was all I had ever dreamed, from the moment I first took sword in hand. I gave up all claim to my ancestral keep. The girl I was to wed married my cousin in my place, I had no need of land or sons, my life would be lived for the realm. Ser Gerold Hightower himself heard my vows . . . to ward the king with all my strength . . . to give my blood for his . . . I fought beside the White Bull and Prince Lewyn of Dorne . . . beside Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Before I served your father, I helped shield King Aerys, and his father Jaehaerys before him . . . three kings . . . "_

_"And all of them dead," Littlefinger pointed out._

_"Your time is done," Cersei Lannister announced. "Joffrey requires men around him who are young and strong. The council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as the Lord Commander of Sworn Brothers of the White Swords."_

_"The Kingslayer," Ser Barristan said, his voice hard with contempt. "The false knight who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend."_

_"Have a care for your words, ser," the queen warned. "You are speaking of our beloved brother, your king's own blood."_

_Lord Varys spoke, gentler than the others. "We are not unmindful of your service, good ser. Lord Tywin Lannister has generously agreed to grant you a handsome tract of land north of Lannisport, beside the sea, with gold and men sufficient to build you a stout keep, and servants to see to your every need."_

_Ser Barristan looked up sharply. "A hall to die in, and men to bury me. I thank you, my lords . . . but I spit upon your pity." He reached up and undid the clasps that held his cloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered from his shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. His helmet dropped with a clang. "I am a knight," he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. "I shall die a knight."_

_"A naked knight, it would seem," quipped Littlefinger._

_They all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lords standing attendance, Janos Slynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even the other men of the Kingsguard, the five who had been his brothers until a moment ago. Surely that must have hurt the most, Sansa thought. Her heart went out to the gallant old man as he stood shamed and red-faced, too angry to speak. Finally he drew his sword._

_Sansa heard someone gasp. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn moved forward to confront him, but Ser Barristan froze them in place with a look that dripped contempt. "Have no fear, sers, your king is safe . . . no thanks to you. Even now, I could cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you is fit to wear the white." He flung his sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. "Here, boy. Melt it down and add it to the others, if you like. It will do you more good than the swords in the hands of these five. Perhaps Lord Stannis will chance to sit on it when he takes your throne."_

_He took the long way out, his steps ringing loud against the floor and echoing off the bare stone walls. Lords and ladies parted to let him pass. Not until the pages had closed the great oak-and-bronze doors behind him did Sansa hear sounds again: soft voices, uneasy stirrings, the shuffle of papers from the council table. "He called me boy," Joffrey said peevishly, sounding younger than his years. "He talked about my uncle Stannis too."_

_"Idle talk," said Varys the eunuch. "Without meaning . . . "_

_"He could be making plots with my uncles. I want him seized and questioned." No one moved. Joffrey raised his voice. "I said, I want him seized!"_

_Janos Slynt rose from the council table. "My gold cloaks will see to it, Your Grace."_

_"Good," said King Joffrey. Lord Janos strode from the hall, his ugly sons double-stepping to keep up as they lugged the great metal shield with the arms of House Slynt._

_"Your Grace," Littlefinger reminded the king. "If we might resume, the seven are now six. We find ourselves in need of a new sword for your Kingsguard."_

_Joffrey smiled. "Tell them, Mother."_

_"The king and council have determined that no man in the Seven Kingdoms is more fit to guard and protect His Grace than his sworn shield, Sandor Clegane."_

_"How do you like that, dog?" King Joffrey asked._

_The Hound's scarred face was hard to read. He took a long moment to consider. "Why not? I have no lands nor wife to forsake, and who'd care if I did?" The burned side of his mouth twisted. "But I warn you, I'll say no knight's vows."_

_"The Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard have always been knights," Ser Boros said firmly._

_"Until now," the Hound said in his deep rasp, and Ser Boros fell silent._

_When the king's herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had them dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain._

_The herald's voice boomed out. "If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence."_

_Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother. "Your Grace," she called out in a soft, tremulous voice._

_The height of the Iron Throne gave Joffrey a better vantage point than anyone else in the hall. He was the first to see her. "Come forward, my lady," he called out, smiling._

_His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does. Sansa lifted her head and walked toward him, not too slow and not too fast. She must not let them see how nervous she was._

_"The Lady Sansa, of House Stark," the herald cried._

_She stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan's white cloak lay puddled on the floor beside his helm and breastplate. "Do you have some business for king and council, Sansa?" the queen asked from the council table._

_"I do." She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up at her prince on his fearsome black throne. "As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King." She had practiced the words a hundred times._

_The queen sighed. "Sansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you about traitor's blood?"_

_"Your father has committed grave and terrible crimes, my lady," Grand Maester Pycelle intoned._

_"Ah, poor sad thing," sighed Varys. "She is only a babe, my lords, she does not know what she asks."_

_Sansa had eyes only for Joffrey. He must listen to me, he must, she thought. The king shifted on his seat, "Let her speak," he commanded. "I want to hear what she says."_

_"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa smiled, a shy secret smile, just for him. He was listening. She knew he would._

_"Treason is a noxious weed," Pycelle declared solemnly. "It must be torn up, root and stem and seed, lest new traitors sprout from every roadside."_

_"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish asked._

_"No, my lords." Sansa knew better than that. "I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or . . . or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise . . . "_

_King Joffrey leaned forward, hands grasping the arms of the throne. Broken sword points fanned out between his fingers. "He said I wasn't the king. Why did he say that?"_

_"His leg was broken," Sansa replied eagerly. "It hurt ever so much, Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy, and they say that milk of the poppy fills your head with clouds. Otherwise he would never have said it."_

_Varys said, "A child's faith . . . such sweet innocence . . . and yet, they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes."_

_"Treason is treason," Pycelle replied at once._

_Joffrey rocked restlessly on the throne. "Mother?"_

_Cersei Lannister considered Sansa thoughtfully. "If Lord Eddard were to confess his crime," she said at last, "we would know he had repented his folly."_

_Joffrey pushed himself to his feet. Please, Sansa thought, please, please, be the king I know you are, good and kind and noble, please. "Do you have any more to say?" he asked her._

_"Only . . . that as you love me, you do me this kindness, my prince," Sansa said._

_King Joffrey looked her up and down. "Your sweet words have moved me," he said gallantly, nodding, as if to say all would be well. "I shall do as you ask . . . but first your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the king, or there will be no mercy for him."_

_"He will," Sansa said, heart soaring. "Oh, I know he will."_

And so like the good lady she was Sansa had gone and spoken to her father, had begged him to confess that what he had said in the throne room was not true. She had expected her father to protest to do anything, but he had merely nodded meekly, and told her he would. And so Sansa had left his cell feeling happier than she had in a long, long time. Of Arya there was no news, she had not been found, but her gallant prince had told her that her cousin Jeyne and her aunt Ashara would be coming to King’s Landing soon, to visit and to help bring Princess Myrcella to Dorne. That only served to increase her happiness she liked her cousin Jeyne and she liked her Aunt Ashara and maybe then everything would be alright.

That was what she kept telling herself as she made her way to the Great Sept of Baelor, her father would admit that what he had said was wrong and her gallant prince Joffrey would spare him and allows him to go home, and if they were lucky they would find Arya. That was what was running through her head as her father began to speak.

“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I come before you to confess my treason.”

The crowd began to murmur, Sansa continued looking at her father willing him to go on. Praying that what was right would happen. Her father continued. “I betrayed the faith and trust of my king and friend King Robert Baratheon the first of his name, may he rest in peace. I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

More murmuring followed the end of her father’s confession; stones came out of the crowd and struck her father in the head. Her lord father remained stoically still, he did not move nor did he falter when the stones hit him and drew blood. The High Septon stood forward. “This man has confessed his sins and his treason. As we sin to do the gods forgive us. What is to be done with this man Your Grace?”

Her gallant prince stepped forward then and Sansa felt hope bloom in her chest, her father would be cleared, he would be free, she knew it, Joffrey had promised. “My lady mother and the Lady Sansa have begged me to spare Lord Eddard, to grant him mercy and allow him to take the black,” he turned to look at her and smiled. Then went on. “But they have the weak hearts of women. So long as I am king, know that treason shall not go unpunished. Ser Illyn bring me his head.”

Sansa screamed then and fell to her knees sobbing trying to beg for mercy, Varys rushed forward, Pycelle stuttered and stumbled, her father was forced to his knees and his head placed on the chopping block, Ser Illyn raised his sword- it looked familiar- and brought it down and separated her father’s head from his body, Sansa screamed and sobbed and then she fainted and knew no more.

* * *

**Alys**

The aftermath of a battle, as Alys was quickly finding was when men’s blood ran the highest. After the battle of Whispering Wood, Robb had come back to their tent and made love to her so passionately and so fiercely, she had thought she might have been in paradise. Afterwards as they laid beside each other strewn on their bed, Robb’s hand splayed protectively over her swelling stomach, Robb had sighed and said, “I understand if you hate me Alys. Truly I do.”

She had been confused. “Why would I hate you Robb? You haven’t done anything to harm me have you?”

He turned to face her then, his eyes were so full of hurt Alys wanted to kiss it all away, and instead she waited for him to speak. “I’m still alive whilst Torr and Ed are dead. They died because I wasn’t man enough to fight the Kingslayer myself, it should have been me.”

“Don’t ever say that Robb, don’t you dare say that,” she had said passionately. “Torr and Ed died doing their duty protecting their liege lord and their good brother. Whilst I am sad that they are dead and will mourn them, I am glad that you are safe and are here with me,” she locked their fingers together and moved them down to her belly. “With us.”

Robb had given her a watery smile then. “Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?” he had asked.

“A girl I think, I’m not carrying low enough for it to be a boy.” She had replied.

Robb had smiled then and said. “I will be late coming back to the tent tonight. We have to fight the Lannisters once more. I’ll have Owen and Ned stand guard outside our tent to protect you.”

She had been about to refuse but looking into her husband’s eyes she knew that doing so would be futile and so she had nodded and had kissed him goodbye that night as he had ridden off to fight yet another battle. She had stood there for a long moment unsure of what to do with herself, and so had walked back to their tent, when her good mother had stopped her. “I know it can be difficult seeing your husband off to fight,”

Alys had looked at her good mother, had looked at the worry lines that were mapped across her face and asked. “Does it ever get easier?”

Lady Catelyn had smiled a sad smile then and said “No it never does. I sent Ned off to fight in the rebellion when I barely knew him. Then again when the Greyjoy’s rebelled and once more when he went to King’s Landing and each time it gets harder and harder. But we stick through it and carry on, for as the Stark words say winter is coming.”

She had left her good mother then and entered her and Robb’s tent and spent the next few hours awake, unable to sleep for waiting to hear news of the battle. The early lights of dawn were just beginning to creep through the tent when she heard the cheering of men and the galloping of hooves. She went outside to see what all the commotion was about. “Lord Stark has returned my lady.” Owen Norrey told her. She ran to where the noises were coming from, not caring about how unladylike she might have looked and when she saw Robb, standing there giving the reigns of his horse to his squire, his armour covered in mood and blood she threw herself into his arms. And then leaned up and kissed him and kissed him until they were both breathless, earning more than a few catcalls from those men nearby.

Robb had smiled at her then, his cheeks going a faint red. “I’m pleased to see you too my love.”

“How did it go?” she asked.

Robb’s face became somber and solemn then. “We finished them off, but 1000 of their men still managed to flee. Riverrun is safe though.”

“And my father?” she asked terrified.

“He is well, he received an injury but he is well.” Robb replied.

They had been preparing to move everything to Riverrun when news had come from King’s Landing. Dark Wings, Dark Words was the common saying and the news that this raven brought was particularly dire and dampened the celebratory mood of the men, and crushed Robb and Lady Catelyn. Lord Eddard was dead, beheaded for treason on the orders of King Joffrey.

Something inside of Robb had broken when he had read the words of his father’s death. Alys knew, she could see it in the way his eyes began to redden, in the way his hands began to shake. He had left for the godswood and she had not seen him since, and she was beginning to get worried, so she left her father’s company and walked toward where she had been told the godswood of Riverrun was.

It was there she found her husband hacking and slashing at a weirwood tree with his sword, denting it and tearing bark of the tree. He was crying she could see that clearly, could hear it in his shallow breathing. Lady Catelyn came and stood beside her and spoke. “Oh Robb,” she said.

Robb looked up through tear stained eyes at his mother then her, “You’ve damaged your sword now Robb.” Catelyn said.

Robb looked at his sword and through it down to the ground where it hit with a resounding clatter. He stood there in front of them for a long moment, then he all but ran into his mother’s outstretched arms. She heard him mumbling oaths into his mother’s shoulder and then he looked up and looked at her and said “I’ll kill them all, every single last one of them. I’ll kill them all.”

Alys felt her heart break into tiny pieces for her husband, lady Catelyn replied. “First we must get the girls back and then we’ll kill them all.”

Robb sniffled and then broke off from his mother’s hug to embrace Alys, Alys held him tight and kissed his cheek before he broke off from her and walked back toward the castle. Greywind appeared and followed him back. Alys watched her husband walk back to the castle with her heart heavy.

“Look after him Alys, he will need you now more so than ever.” She heard her good mother say.

“I know,” she said. “I will.” She promised.

 

Later that day, she found herself sat in a council meeting with her husband and good mother. Listening to the lords bicker about whom to declare for, they were arguing like children. One lord saying they should declare for Stannis, the other saying they should declare for Renly. The biggest surprise though was when her good mother said they should sue for peace. Robb replied that the only peace he had for the Lannisters was the sword he held in his hand, Alys felt her nerves beginning to worsen.

Then the Greatjon bellowed through the commotion. “My lords, this is what I have to say for Stannis and Renly,” he spat onto the ground and several of the lords gathered laughed. “Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south. What do they know of the Wolfswood, of the wall, of the north? Nothing that is what,” he drew his great two handed longsword, and pointed it at Robb. “There is the only king I mean to follow. The King In the North!” He knelt and laid his sword at her husband’s feet.

“I’ll have peace on those terms,” Alys heard her father say. “They can keep their iron chair and their red keep.” He drew forth his longsword and laid it beside the Greatjon and kneeled beside the Greatjon. “The King in the North.”

“The king of winter!” Maege Mormont cried as she laid her mace next to the two longswords. Soon others took up the cry, and the riverlords, men who had never been ruled from Winterfell in ages past took to the knee and laid their weapons at her husband’s feet. “The King and Queen in the North!” Theon Greyjoy shouted.

Alys felt herself shiver and she gripped Robb’s hand and held it tightly. Winter was Coming now, the North would make sure of it.


	7. War Pigs

**Robb**

Sometimes at night he could still here the shouts, “King in the North!” his men had cried, in their haste and their fear to avoid bending to a southerner. There had been no King in the North for three hundred years, not since Torrhen Stark had bent the knee to Aegon the Dragon. And now, here he was Robb Stark not yet a man in age, but having fought two battles and won them both, he was the successor to Torrhen Stark, lord of Winterfell and King in the North. It was a daunting prospect, especially if he thought about what the news might mean for Sansa and Arya, he knew what Joffrey was like, had watched him when the royals had come to Winterfell. The boy was cruel and snarky, he still remembered the comments he had made to Jeyne, and how Jon had beaten him black and blue. That was why he had brought Ser Cleos Frey out from the cells in Riverrun and had given him terms, because he knew that his lords would crucify him alive if he tried to trade the Kingslayer for Sansa and Arya, no matter how much it pained him to admit it, he knew he could not do that and still expect his men to follow him.

So he had sent Ser Cleos off to King’s Landing with his terms, hoping and praying to both the old gods and the new that the Lannister Queen would be able to talk sense into her son. Should that not work though, he knew that the Westerlands were largely undefended, what with the kingslayer’s army either dead or scattered, Tywin Lannister and his forces camped in Harrenhal, the West was ripe for the taking. Casterly Rock was ripe for the taking. The north did not have a fleet, and wouldn’t be able to have a sufficiently big enough fleet for some time, and so Robb knew that the Ironborn would be invaluable for the attack on the West. From speaking to Theon he had gathered that it was likely that his father might try and crown himself king and so Robb had sent Theon off with a proposal for an alliance. Ironborn raids of the West with the northmen raids, if Casterly Rock fell they would share the plunder, and the west could become Balon Greyjoy’s. Theon assured him that he would get his father to listen, and so he had sent his friend off despite his mother’s protests and reservations.

Robb knew that he couldn’t just stay in Riverrun now though, not after having won two battles. His men would get restless and the Lannisters would think he had gone soft or scared. He could not have that, he needed to march, and he needed to march west. He still needed to secure the Riverlands though, for they were a part of his kingdom, and so he had given the Riverlords leave to return to and secure their lands. So far they had been largely successful, Lord Blackwood had fought a fierce battle outside the castle of Raventree Hall and had won his castle back, the same could be said for Lord Bracken at Stone Hedge. Darry men had regained their castle for their liege lord- a boy no older than Bran- and Lords Vance and Piper were making progress harrying Lannister supply lines going to Harrenhal.

All of this boded well for Robb and the northern cause, and yet he knew that should he try and take King’s Landing to free his sisters, he would need more than just the northmen and the Riverlords. He needed more alliances, what with both Renly and Stannis Baratheon having laid claim to their deceased brother’s crown, Robb knew that though Stannis might have the more legitimate claim to the throne, Renly had the greater numbers and was more likely to be accepting of northern independence. This was why he had sent his mother off to treat with him in the Reach. Despite his mother’s protests that she would be better served here in Riverrun, he knew that only she had a true grasp of these games the southerners played, and he intended to make full use of her skills and knowledge.

Throughout all of this, Robb had worked under the assumption that Alys would be staying in Riverrun, where she would be safe and protected. But alas no, just like she had argued about coming south with him, so too had she argued about riding into the Westerlands with him. He had tried to argue that she needed to stay in Riverrun, if not for her own safety, than for the child she carried. He had also tried to argue that her father had lost two of his sons and the third was a Lannister prisoner, he had argued that Lord Rickard would not be very thankful if his daughter got into harm’s way. When that had not worked he had told her that he would not be able to live with himself if something happened to her, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Her expression had softened at that and Robb had thought that perhaps she might be about to relent and agree to stay in Riverrun, but no she had only stated that she would be riding west with him, if he worried about her safety during battle then he could give her guards, but she would ride west. Once more he had relented, and now that he had he was absurdly glad that he had done so. There was something soothing about his wife’s presence beside him as they rode west, and in their tent at night, something that calmed his nerves and made him more able to relax.

Greywind had found a hidden passage way to the side of the Golden Tooth, a passageway that would allow the northern army to go undetected as it marched. The passageway was narrow and could only be marched through in single file, but it allowed them the chance to find the Lannister army of Stafford Lannister camped at Oxcross. They saw the outskirts of the camp the night they arrived, and knowing that secrecy would be the key to winning here, Robb sent his uncle the Blackfish out with two thousand men in the vanguard to kill the few sentries the man had posted. Once that was done, Robb led the main body of the army into the camp, catching Stafford Lannister and his men with his pants down.

It was less of a battle and more of a rout, Robb would think later. Because of the late hour and the fact that the Lannister soldiers had received no warning, they were completely unprepared for what hit them. It was evident, Robb thought, Lannister men were still in their sleeping clothes as the attack began, and some were still rubbing sleep from their eyes as they fumbled for weapons or were killed. Robb himself did much killing, hacking and slashing with his longsword till both it and the ground were stained red. He kept on hacking and slashing at the Lannister men he came across, bleeding them dry. A slash there took a man’s hand off, a hack there lopped off a man’s head, a cut there pierced a man’s chest and killed him. Yes, it was truly a rout. Beside him he could feel and hear Greywind tearing into the throats of those soldiers that Robb either had not come across yet or had not had the chance to kill yet.

He could hear the cries of the enemy soldiers as they were cut down around him, could hear their screams for mercy and how they begged to be spared. But what they didn’t know was that, their liege lord had not spared Robb’s father, King Joffrey had had Lord Eddard beheaded and had his head mounted on a spike in King’s Landing, and for that Robb would make the Westerlands bleed before he killed Joffrey himself. He continued hacking and slashing, as around him those Lannister soldiers that were not already dead or dying, were trampled on or fled, or were killed trying to flee. Stafford Lannister was slain running after his horse by Robb’s good father, a small act of revenge on Lord Rickard’s part Robb suspects. The battle itself finishes when Lords Crakehall and Jast are captured, both men having received serious wounds in the battle, surrender, and with them so do the 2000 men left with them.  Other notable Lannister prisoners include Ser Lymond Vikary and Kevan Lannister’s son Martyn Lannister.

With that battle done, the northern lords began preparing their next move, Casterly Rock was a few days march away, but it was likely that the men who had fled would join up with Devan Lannister at Lannisport and as such it would not be a good idea to strike out of the Rock just yet, not until they knew for certain that the Ironborn would help them. As of yet there had been no word from Theon, no letter of acceptance of the alliance from Pyke. Robb was not too concerned for he knew what Theon was like, and was certain that his friend would deliver on his word. Instead it was decided that the northern force would split, Lords Glover and Karstark would go pillaging round Nunn’s Deep and the Golden Tooth with 500 men, Lord Umber would raid the gold mines of Castamere and Lady Mormont was to take any livestock she found and drive them back to the Riverlands. Robb would take the rest of the northern strength and march on Ashemark.

The battle of Ashemark itself was a rather bloodless affair for the northern army, Robb would later reflect. The castle itself was held by a garrison of only 200 men, led by Lord Damon Marbrand himself. Lord Damon was an old man nearing his late fifties, he was no longer the strongest of men as he had been in his youth, and the battle for his castle took a few hours. They attacked just as the sun was beginning to rise and as the Blackfish blew his war horn, and Greywind gave an answering howl, Robb felt a chill go up his back, one step closer to justice. He drew his longsword and the charged, the castle gates fell after three ramming, the battle inside the castle was quick, the Marbrand men were overwhelmed by the sheer number of northmen attacking them. Robb hacked and slashed a bloody path through the garrison still mounted on a black warhorse, Greywind next to him, tearing and biting his way through the enemy.

Soon Robb found himself face to face with old Lord Damon Marbrand. The man still looked imposing even if he was not the warrior he had once been. They exchanged blows, slashing and cutting and parrying at each other. Denting the other’s armour and drawing blood. Where Lord Damon was experience, Robb was quick, where Damon was cautious, Robb was daring. Eventually Robb’s daring paid off, he feinted to his left, drawing the old lord with him and then quickly thrust his sword deep into Lord Damon’s chest, piercing through the old lord’s armour and into his skin, when Robb pulled out his sword it was coated in blood and old Damon Marbrand had blood spurting from the wound Robb had given him.

The garrison of Ashemark was either dead or wounded. The castle’s grizzled old maester- who reminded Robb of the Greatjon’s uncle Whorsebane- was the man who surrendered the castle to Robb. The northmen suffered very few losses, perhaps as many as 100.  They spent some time in Ashemark, waiting for the rest of the northern force to come to them, four days after the castle had surrendered to them, Lord Umber came to Ashemark and with him came the 100 men he had taken as well as all the gold and plunder from Castamere. Five days after Lord Umber’s arrival, Lords Glover and Karstark arrived with their men, and the plunder they had brought from Nunn’s Deep, as well as Alysanne Lefford, heir to the Golden Tooth. Three days after Lords Glover and Karstark’s arrival word came from Riverrun, writ in his mother’s hand. Renly Baratheon was dead, rumoured to have been killed by his brother Stannis, Storm’s End had fallen to Stannis Baratheon, and Tywin Lannister’s forces had been seen marching from Harrenhal.

News of Renly Baratheon’s death had shocked Robb and the northern lords, that he had been killed with the strength of the reach behind him only further served to increase their shock. News of Tywin Lannister’s march from Harrenhal, stirred the hopes of the northern lords, if the man was marching west then their plan was working, and they would be able to trap him from both east and west, he only hoped that his uncle Edmure would understand what needed to be done.  He worried that perhaps he had not been explicit enough in his instructions to his uncle, when he had told him to hold Riverrun.  His doubts grew and so he sent a raven to Riverrun instructing his uncle to allow the old lion through, and then attack from the rear, his only hope as he prepared to ride to the Crag was that his uncle would get the letter in time.

The reason Robb was marching for the Crag was that he had received a raven from the Iron Islands informing him that they would accept his alliance, if he allowed Theon to be freed from the terms of hostage that he had been placed under during the Greyjoy Rebellion, Robb wrote back agreeing to this and therefore when told that an Ironborn fleet under Theon would be sailing from Pyke for the Crag, Robb mustered his men and marched from Ashemark for the old castle.

As they got nearer to the castle outskirts, Robb’s suspicions began to grow, as far as he could see there were no ships docked in close to the castle or the grounds, no signs of a struggle in the castle- though it was already a ruin, so it would be hard to tell- “Tell Smalljon and Black Walder that its time.” Robb said, Owen Norrey nodded and hastened to obey.

Soon out the corner of his eye he saw the two men in question, scaling the wall. “Ready the ram,” he said his heart beginning to pound with nervousness. “Make sure Alys is well protected.” He said to faithful Ned Wull who nodded and moved his horse back to ensure Alys’s safety.

He watched ram being brought forward and dismounted from his horse and moved toward the ram. Once he had a solid grip on the ram he nodded and the battering of the castle gates began. He felt the vibrations in his shoulders as the ram struck the gate; he heard the startled shouts of the guards on the walls. He felt the vibrations once more as the ram hit the gates once again, this time the startled shouts of the men on the walls turned into curses and screams, the Smalljon and Black Walder had clearly made it over the wall.

As the ram hit the gate for the third time, Robb felt an arrow pierce his armour, he cursed as he felt blood begin to pour out of the wound created. But he could not think for too long on it, for the gate had been broken down. The force of the blow to the gate had carried the ram and those who held it through and allowed them to knock down several members of the Westerling Garrison.

Dropping the ram, the men and Robb drew forth their swords and began the attack. They were met with little to no resistance, many of the men who formed the castle’s garrison had likely been killed by Smalljon, Black Walder and the archers Robb had had stationed round the castle. Still there was some fierce fighting, Robb hacked and slashed his way through, but every time he took a blow to the chest he felt his wound begin to worsen, it pained like the seven hells.  He just about managed to stay conscious through the pain to have the Westerlings surrender before he passed out.

 

When he finally came to, he was in a strange room, in a strange bed and it took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. And then it all came back to him and he jerked suddenly as the door to the room opened and he cursed as a jolt of pain shot through him.

“Now, now husband, we can’t have you doing that now can we?” Alys chided.

Robb chuckled, though he winced when the action caused even more pain to flare in his chest. “What happened?” he asked.

“Well you took the Crag my love, though you received a injury to your chest from an arrow. I’ve been nursing you back to health with help from Lady Jeyne here,” she nodded to a girl who had just followed her into the room, she had chestnut curls and a pretty face, and she kept blushing every  time Robb looked at her.

“You have my thanks.” Robb said both to his wife and to Lady Jeyne.

Alys smiled and then nodded for Jeyne to leave. She sat down on the bed beside him and took hold of one of his hands, squeezing it tightly. “I thought something bad would happen to you Robb. You were ill with the wound for three days before now. I knew you’d make it through though. You always do.” She gave him a watery smile.

Robb squeezed her hand then. “Well we Starks are hard to kill, you know. Now tell me what else has been happening since I’ve been knocked out?”

Alys chuckled then, though her eyes were still watery. “Well since the Crag fell, your lords have been arguing over what to do next. Some argue that it would still be prudent to march on Casterly Rock now whilst Ser Devan struggles to raise another host. We had word from Riverrun as well, your uncle Edmure fought a host led by Ser Armory Loch at the Fords. Loch and the Lannister men there were defeated, Loch was killed.”

Robb nodded, and then asked. “No sign of Tywin Lannister?”

At that Alys shifted uncomfortably and said. “Your uncle wrote that one of the men they captured told them that the force under Loch was a diversion, a plot to get Edmure out of the castle and make him think Tywin was marching west. The old Lannister received word from the Tyrells about Stannis marching to King’s Landing, whilst he was still in Harrenhal, he sent Loch and some men out to the west, and marched his strength south to join with the Tyrells west of King’s Landing in the Kingswood. They took Stannis in the rear after wildfire did in for his ships.”

Robb felt his heart beginning to sink, his plan had not worked. Alys went on. “We had word from the north as well.” Robb looked up then. “The Ironborn have invaded and taken Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin, that letter you received was a ruse.”

Robb had had barely anytime to process what had been said before the Greatjon knocked on the door and entered. “Pardons your graces, but we have just received this letter from Riverrun.” He handed the letter to Alys who brought down for them both to read.

As he read what was written in his mother’s formal hand he felt his heart break into millions of tiny pieces. Winterfell had been sacked and burned, by Theon, his friend, a man he considered a brother, Theon had killed Bran and Rickon when they had tried to flee, had mounted their heads on spikes on the walls of Winterfell. Robb felt tears begin to fall from his eyes, and soon he was wrapped up in Alys’s firm embrace as she mumbled comforting words into his chest, all he could think about was revenge and justice. He would make Theon Greyjoy pay; he would make them all pay.

* * *

**Theon**

He had been so proud when Robb had chosen to send him to the Iron Islands. He had known that Lady Catelyn had protested against sending him, because she no doubt feared that he would betray her son when he returned back to Pyke. But of course he had had no such thoughts, he saw Robb as his brother- more of a brother than Maron and Rodrik had ever been to him- and he had sworn himself to Robb and recognised Robb as his king, he also had promised to convince his father to join forces with Robb and help him attack the Westerlands. He had been convinced that his lord father would have been so happy to see his only surviving son return home to Pyke at last that he would gladly agree to anything that Robb had to offer.

He was wrong. By the time he had left Seagard and sailed for Pyke, his father had already called his banners, and had been preparing for war for some time. Theon had expected to be received on the shores of Pyke with some ceremony and some pomp, after all he was Balon Greyjoy’s only surviving son and therefore his heir, he had fought beside the Young Wolf, as people were beginning to call Robb, and had the King’s ear, he could bring riches to the Iron Islands, in essence Theon had believed himself to be the prodigal son come home.  His father thought not. He was not greeted by his father, but rather by some serving wench- who had turned out to be his sister- she had flirted with him and toyed with him, and then when she had brought him before his father, she had laughed at him, as had his father and his uncles.

His father had accused him of haven forgotten his roots, of having become soft in his time in the green lands. Theon argued that he had not become soft; he argued that his time with the Starks had been good as it had given him a better sense of how the green landers operated, of how they thought and fought. He argued that his time in Winterfell had given his father several advantages that he could use to press home. He argued that because Robb saw him as a brother, Robb would be willing to share even more of the spoils of war with them. His father had snapped then. Theon remembered Balon Greyjoy as being a very proud man with a prickly temper, and the years had done nothing to ease that. He had yelled at Theon, telling him never to claim Robb Stark as his brother, not when it had been the Starks who were responsible for Rodrik and Maron’s deaths. Theon had wanted to point out that it was not the Starks who were responsible for his brothers’ deaths, but rather Jason Mallister had killed Rodrik and Maron had been killed by the wreckage in Pyke, but he said none of that.

His father had stopped his ranting to ask Theon what this plan was that he and Robb had concocted, and so he told him of how Robb would be marching into the Westerlands to draw Tywin Lannister away from King’s Landing in the south, and how at Theon’s suggestion would strike at Casterly Rock and Lannisport with Ironborn aid, and how once the Rock was taken, the Ironborn would have the Westerlands as part of their kingdom. Balon Greyjoy had laughed then, had said that he would not follow the beck and call of a pup. No his father said, bold as brass. He meant to take what was his with sword and fire, by the old way. He meant to take the North. Theon had felt some sort of disappointment well up inside of him when he heard that. He knew then that he would never be able to leave and join up with Robb again, not without being seen as a traitor to his family, or a failure to Robb, and both were options that he was not willing to consider.

So he listened as his father gave tasks to his uncle Victarion and his sister Asha, and then he began formulating another plan, one that could still allow him to indirectly help Robb. He asked his father what he was to do to help with the invasion of the north. His father had looked at him with barely concealed disdain, and told him that he would be going with his uncle the Damphair to raid fishing villages along the Stony Shore.  That had angered him, deeply. He had fought alongside Robb at the Whispering Wood, at the Battle of the Camps, he had clashed blades with experience warriors, and his father was sending him off to raid fishing villages, something that boys who had just learnt that their cock was not just for pissing did. It angered him deeply, he was his father’s true heir and yet his father had just made it clear to him who he truly thought was his heir.

His pride stung, Theon had taken command over the ship the Sea Bitch and had several other smaller vessels with him and sailed for the north with his uncle the Damphair and the man he considered his uncle Dagmer Cleftjaw.  Before he left thought his father told him to send a raven to Robb and to tell him that he would meet him at the Crag, and reluctantly he did so, all the while fighting an inner battle with himself over whether or not he should just write to Robb and tell him the truth, tell him his father’s plans and forewarn him. But like a coward he did not write to Robb, he burnt the letter that he had started writing and boarded his ship the next day.

The raiding of the villages around the Stony Shore were easy, they snuck up on the unsuspected villagers and killed those they found and took their women as salt wives, and took whatever plunder they could find. Benfred Tallhart and his Wild Hares had come down from Torrhen’s Square looking for them, expecting no trouble though they talked and sang loudly, allowing for Theon and his men to sneak upon them in the dark. Theon and his men had butchered the Wild Hares, killing them in hand to hand combat. Benfred was taken hostage and questioned, when he refused to speak and constantly called Theon an oathbreaker, and then insulted the Drowned God, Theon had him put to death. He felt no remorse for the deaths of the Wild Hares or Benfred Tallhart; to him they were one less bothersome obstacle in his path to proving himself to his father.

The killing of the Wild Hares had allowed the true scope of the Ironborn invasion to go unrecognised from Winterfell and had therefore allowed Theon’s sister Asha to take Deepwood Motte. When news arrived that Moat Cailin had fallen, he had begun plotting with Dagmer Cleftjaw to take Winterfell. He knew that if he took Winterfell, his father would have to recognise him as his heir, and perhaps might even feel proud of him. The Damphair had been against the plan, stating that was not what his father had wanted him to do, Theon had paid him no mind and had not been sorry to see his uncle go, his uncle had changed since Theon had last known him and not in a good way.

Theon knew that if he wanted to take Winterfell without too many losses he would need to have a distraction to draw out the garrison. So he instructed the Cleftjaw to lay siege to Torrhen’s Square, and as the man did so and Theon received word that Ser Rodrik Cassel was marching to relieve the siege, he took twenty of his best men and took a left turn into the Wolfswood and from there had his men swim under the moat and scale the walls.

Winterfell was lightly garrisoned with Ser Rodrik away trying to lift the siege of Torrhen’s Square and so Theon and his men had taken the castle with minimal casualties, with twenty men in fact. He had declared himself Prince of Winterfell, and had brought Bran, Rickon, two Walders, and the Reed children brought toward him as hostages. Bran had surrendered the castle, albeit reluctantly and the wildling woman Osha had found herself in his service, though Theon did doubt that she was truly loyal to his cause, but it made no matter. So long as he held Bran and Rickon, the castlefolk, would not dare rise up against him.  But then Bran and Rickon had escaped and despite leading a search party, Theon had been unable to find them.

To hide the embarrassment he had Reek kill two miller’s boys and had their heads tarred and mounted on spikes on Winterfell’s walls, and told the castlefolk that their Starks were dead. That earnt him their hatred, and there were more and more Ironborn deaths as the days went on, his sister came down from Deepwood Motte and begged him to come back with her, telling him that Winterfell was too far from the sea, and that he would never be able to hold it. Like a fool he had refused, his pride had gotten in the way of rational judgement and he had refused, he had asked Asha to leave him some men, expecting that she would leave him more than a hundred, she left him ten and fled back to Deepwood Motte once word reached them that Ser Rodrik was marching with force to Winterfell.

Those ten soon fled as well, back to the Stony Shore with their tails between their legs. Theon was left alone in Winterfell with an ever decreasing number of men, and a looming threat of northmen.  Maester Luwin urged him to surrender and take the black, a man’s sins were forgiven and forgotten when he took the black, but once more in his arrogance and blinded by pride he refused to give up, he had paid the iron price for Winterfell, and if the northmen wanted it back they would have to pay the iron price to get it. Like a fool he listened to Reek and allowed the man to leave through the gates to get men he said would help him, he sat and waited, and waited, and watched as more of his men began to trickle away, till finally Ser Rodrik came knocking on the door with some 900 men and with Theon only having some seven men to hold Winterfell.

Attempts at a parley failed, Theon threatened the life of Ser Rodrik’s daughter Beth, if he did not surrender. Ser Rodrik was paralysed with fear then, but then Bolton men came and Theon felt his heart sink, he thought he was done for. Then he watched amazed as the leader of the Bolton men cut off Ser Rodrik’s arm and then proceeded to lead his men as they cut down the men led by Ser Rodrik. He watched transfixed as Ser Rodrik had a sword thrust through his chest by the man leading the Boltons who Theon belatedly realised was the Bastard of Bolton himself. He was rooted to the spot as he saw Cley Cerwyn, a boy he had seen grow up; die from an arrow to the eye. The fighting broke out into the streets of the winter town, and by the end of the fighting there, Theon opened the gates to his saviour.

He had heard many rumours about the bastard of Bolton, some said he was the devil in human form, some said he was a White Walker, but all agreed that he was bad news. In that moment Theon hadn’t cared, Ramsay Snow had saved him from an inglorious end. He greeted the man like a long lost friend, only to be paid back with more treachery as the Bolton men soon began killing the Ironborn still left with Theon as well as some of the men still left in Winterfell. Theon watched horrified as the Bolton men burnt the Maester’s Tower and the Bell Tower, broke down a side of the First Keep and killed Maester Luwin.

Theon tried to flee, but Ramsay caught up with him and knocked him out. He woke up a few days later unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there, to find Ramsay Snow standing in front of him, a knife in his hands, his eyes glistening with barely concealed malice and madness.

“Ah so the Prince is awake eh? Tell me my prince, do you know where you are?”

Theon turned his head and found that he was tied to a rack, a torture rack. He remained silent. Bolton’s bastard laughed. “Oh come now my prince, don’t play silent with me. I remember your boasts in Winterfell. Well let us see if you’re boasts contained a word of truth shall we?” He had put the knife to Theon’s skin and began dragging it down in slow movements, the cold of the knife forced Theon to gasp with shock, and then when the knife drew blood, he cried out.

Ramsay Snow laughed maliciously. “Ah but that’s not the worst of it is it now? No killing those innocent little boys, such a poor idea my prince.”

“That was your idea.” Theon gasped as he felt the knife edge further downwards.

Ramsay was not laughing now, in fact he seemed angry. “Lying won’t save you now. I lost my pet when I was captured. But I think you’ll make a fine replacement don’t you?”

“Piss on you” Theon replied.

Snow’s eyes darkened then. “Enough. You shall become my pet, Reek.” And with that he dragged the knife down in one fluid motion, and Theon Greyjoy screamed into the darkness

* * *

**Jon**

It still made him feel like a traitor whenever he thought about that night when he learnt that his uncle had been arrested. He had been so tempted to flee, he had yet to say his vows, it would not be shameful, he would not be an oathbreaker, and yet he had stayed his hand. It might not be shameful but he had promised his uncle Ned he would man the Wall as penance for what he had done to Prince Joffrey, and so he had stayed. He had sworn his vows in front of the weirwood tree and had prayed for guidance from the Old Gods. Instead of guidance they tested him once more, when news of his father’s execution reached him. He had fled from Castle Black late that night, leaving Winter’s Fury behind, and he had ridden hard and had hidden in the woods, he wouldn’t have been found had it not been for Ghost, startling his horse.

Grenn, Pyp and Halder had found him then, and had shamed him into returning back to Castle Black before the morning light had come.  He had gone to the Lord Commander’s rooms the next day, feeling ashamed and angry. Ashamed that he had almost fled when he had sworn a vow, and angry because his friends could have been caught trying to stop him from fleeing. He had been deeply surprised when the Old Bear asked him how his evening ride had been, and even more surprised when he was told that people had been watching him throughout the day. The Lord Commander had asked him then to truthfully say whether or not he would try and flee south again. Jon already ashamed by what he had attempted promised that he wouldn’t. His answer seemed to please the Old Bear as the old man gave him back Winter’s Fury and told him to be ready to move out at first light the next day, for that was when they had left for the great ranging. But before then, Jon had found himself summoned to Maester Aemon’s room, where the old maester talked to him about several issues relating to the Night’s Watch and family, culminating in the old maester revealing that he was a Targaryen, one of only three left alive in the world.

Jon had told the Lord Commander that news the same day as he was helping the Old Bear prepare for the voyage north. Mormont had sighed then and had gone on to tell Jon the story of Maester Aemon. Of how he had being the third son of a fourth son been sent to the Citadel and earnt his chain, of how he had declined to become king when the Great Council was called and how to avoid being used in plots against his brother Aegon the Unlikely, he had ridden north with a former lord commander Brynden Rivers and taken the black, in the same year his brother was crowned king. Mormont told Jon of how Aemon was respected and revered amongst the older members of the watch, as whenever tragedy had struck his family, be it at Summerhall or during Robert’s Rebellion, he had never once faltered in his vows to the Watch, he had always remained loyal to the Watch and to what it stood for, something that had earnt him even the grudging respect of Ser Allister Thorne. Jon had been ashamed then, and had sworn to himself that he would try and follow Maester Aemon’s example and remain faithful to the Watch no matter what happened south of Castle Black.

The next day they had ridden out from Castle Black in great force, the biggest ranging in living memory, with two sole purposes: to discover what had become of Jon’s uncle Benjen and the rangers he himself had been looking for, and to discover what was happening north of the wall with regards to Mance Rayder, the wildlings and the wights. They had marched in force and arrived soaking wet and tired to their bones at Craster’s Keep.  Jon had heard many things about Craster the wildling, and not many of them were good. Whilst all said that he was a friend to the Watch in that he allowed them to share his meat and roof, he was a sister fucker, a daughter fucker and worshipped the White Walkers. Jon knew not what to believe and therefore decided to give the man a chance.

It soon became apparent that Craster was a man who was impatient and quick to anger, and never truly forgot a slight be it real or imagined. He also had many wives and daughters, Jon was confused as to which was which, but he knew that they were not meant to have any contact- or atleast no more than strictly necessary- with either Craster’s daughters or his wives.  That seemed to be going just fine for Jon, until Sam tried to convince him to bring back one of Craster’s daughters who was also his wife, she was named Gilly and was pregnant, Sam- bless him- wanted to save her from the same fate as her fellow wives and sisters and wanted to bring her back to Castle Black, why though Jon knew not nor did he know how Sam would do that, and he told him as such and told Gilly that they could not take her with them, though he felt something inside him revolt at the thought of leaving such an innocent girl with such a horrid man as Craster. And then that night, as everyone else was settling down to rest, Jon was struggling to sleep, and he saw Craster walking out with a bundle in his arms and out into the Haunted Forest. Curious Jon followed him, keeping a few paces behind the man so he could have a chance to hide if the man turned around. What he saw disturbed and scared him beyond comprehension, Craster was carrying a baby in his arms and when he laid the bundle down in between two trees, he waited for a moment and then said something in the Old Tongue before walking away, Jon had hidden behind a tree when the man had passed by, and then when he was sure that Craster had gone he looked back to see a hooded figure bend down and take the child, Jon did not see what the figure looked like he only knew that he had felt so very, very cold when it was there.

He had returned to the keep shaken and disturbed, and the next day had had a whispered conversation with the Old Bear about what he had seen. He had been deeply surprised when the Old Bear admitted to knowing about what Craster did, and when he had said that many of the rangers who stopped at Craster’s Keep knew of what the man did, Jon had felt revolted. He had asked the Old Bear how they could let such a man carry on living for doing something so despicable, and the Old Bear had turned to look at Jon then, his eyes looked so sad and so worn, that Jon regretted speaking of what he had seen in the first place. The Old Bear had said that whilst what Craster did deeply disturbed and disgusted him, it was neither his place nor the place of any in the Night’s Watch to question him, for the man no matter what he might be, did provide shelter for them and provide them with information, though he did concede that it was a bitter pill to have to swallow.

One such useful piece of information had them heading to the Fist of the First Men, where Old Commander Mormont had decreed that they would set up shop and try and hold back any advances from further north be they from Wildlings or White Walkers. Of course they still needed information, and so the Old Bear had begun devising which groups of Black Brothers to send out on rangings to find out what they could, that was then Qhorin Halfhand had arrived. The Halfhand was a legend in the Watch, a skilled ranger and fighter, Jon had heard about the man from tales his uncle Benjen had often spoke of when he had come to visit in Winterfell. When the Old Bear decreed that the Halfhand would lead a ranging, Jon had immediately volunteered himself to go with the Halfhand. He still secretly harboured ambitions about being a ranger and so wished to learn all he could, and besides he had told himself the Old Bear wouldn’t have need of him at the Fist; no he would just get in the way. Perhaps he could help the Halfhand find out more with the help of Ghost.

The Old Bear had agreed to let him go with the Halfhand, and so they had left that same day to go further north of the wall to find out what they could about the Wildlings and the White Walkers.  They walked many a mile through the barren lands, and found many a wildling village empty, thus confirming the rumours they had heard first in Craster’s Keep, it did seem that the Wildlings were gathering in the Frostfangs. It was in one of those deserted villages that Jon stumbled upon three wildlings sleeping by a fire, two males and a female with auburn hair. He killed the two men, but could not bring himself to kill the female, and instead allowed her to go. Though later he took her as a prisoner when he and the Halfhand stumbled upon her once more, though she had led them into a trap, for they found themselves surrounded by wildlings that it appeared were led by a fierce one known as Rattleshirt, though the man himself was not present.

The Halfhand had told Jon before they had gone to follow the wildling woman- who Jon now knew was called Ygritte- that he must do anything that was asked of him by the Wildlings, the Halfhand told Jon that he needed to get their trust, he needed to find out what they were planning and when he next had the chance he had to return to the Fist to alert the Old Bear. So when the wildlings told him to fight the Halfhand to prove that he wanted to join them, he did. He fought the Halfhand and because of Ghost managed to kill him, he felt something inside of him break then, he was breaking his vows. Though when he was brought before the wildling king Mance Rayder, he continued to follow the act that the Halfhand had told him to follow.

He swore that he had abandoned the Watch and was only looking for somewhere to call home. Mance accepted and welcomed him in, and then as they continued their march further south, Jon learnt more about what the Wildlings were planning and why they had amassed themselves in such large numbers. They were fleeing south from the White Walkers and the wights that had stalked them from the Lands of Always Winter. Jon tried to keep any inhibitions he had about what he was doing to a minimum, he kept repeating the words that the Halfhand had told him, _do what they tell you to, build their trust, learn their secrets, and do it for the Watch._ However, it got increasingly harder to keep to those words with Ygritte always following him about and trying to sneak into his furs at night. He had broken his vows in one way; he had been determined not to break them in another.

That hadn’t worked. Ygritte’s persistence had eventually worn him down, and one day when they stopped and wandered around a cave where Gendel’s Children were supposedly buried they made love, and every night since then they had slept together, and though Jon kept trying to tell himself what he was doing was wrong, he couldn’t help it. He was scared that he was beginning to fall in love with Ygritte, the more he got to know her, the fonder he grew  of her.

Then they had come to the Fist, and Jon had been expecting to see the might of the Watch there ready and waiting, and instead what he found was corpses, the corpses of the men he had ridden with as the ranging began. He had been forced to cough up what he knew of the ranging then. He had told Mance what he knew, though he minced the information together so that neither Mance nor any of the either wildlings had any true idea of the strength of the Watch. Mance had sent Jon to scale the Wall with Ygritte and several other wildlings, and so scale it they did. They came up several miles east of Castle Black, perhaps even several miles east of Eastwatch and they kept going south, further and further south, until they got to Queenscrown

By then Jon had become more and wearier of what he was doing. Ygritte was in love with him and therefore didn’t pick up on his suspicions, but the Magnar Styr did. The man watched Jon with eagle eyes, both literally and figuratively. Jon could feel the tension beginning to build within him the closer they got to Castle Black. The final straw had been when they had stopped at a nearby village where an old man was staying. The Magnar demanded that Jon kill the old man to prove his loyalty to the wildling cause, and Jon hesitated but then Ygritte came and killed the man. Jon tried to leave but the Magnar refused to let him go, they broke out into a sword fight, which ended with Bran’s direwolf- Jon was certain of it- came leaping out of nowhere to kill two of the wildlings that were trying to attack Jon.

Jon took advantage of that and got onto the horse that the old man had left behind, he could hear Ygritte screaming his name, but he kicked his feet into the horse’s sides and spurred it on, but before he got very far he felt an arrow pierce his leg. He rode hard ignoring the growing pain in his leg because of the arrow stuck there, until he got to Castle Black’s gates and passed out in front of them. When he woke he was in Maester Aemon’s room being tended to, his leg throbbed with pain. He tried to speak but he was given milk of the poppy and told to rest.

When he did finally manage to wake long enough to speak coherently he told Maester Aemon and Donal Noye of the looming wildling threat, and told them of how the Halfhand had instructed him to do whatever it took to learn more information, and that the Lord Commander would need to be notified, as would Winterfell.

Maester Aemon looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “Jon,” he said not unkindly. “Lord Commander Mormont was killed by traitors on the march back from the First Men.”

Jon swallowed. Aemon went on. “Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell by deceit and treachery, and put your cousins to the sword, and mounted their heads above the walls of Winterfell. It has fallen.” Jon stared at Maester Aemon not wanting to believe the words he spoke, but knowing deep down that they were true, he felt his heart break into a million tiny pieces, and felt it clench painfully when Maester Aemon went on and said. “There was also a letter from Starfall for you. It’s about your sister.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. She

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three women in Westeros who influence the course of events. One is the Dragon, the Other is a Wolf refusing to be cowed longing for home, the third is a trout now a wolf, longing for her pups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bits in Italics are from A Clash Of Kings, and are used as flashbacks in this instance. Enjoy :)

**Danaerys**

Danaerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had been through much in her relatively short life. She had been born on the island of Dragonstone during one of the fiercest storms to ever grace Westeros during the tail end of the War of the Usurper. The storm had destroyed most of her father’s fleet, but there had been perhaps two ships left and one of those ships had been the one to transport herself, her brother Viserys and Ser Willam Darry to Bravos. They had stayed in Bravos until Ser Willam had died, then the servants in the house with the red door had kicked them out, and she and her brother had wandered from city to city, looking for somewhere to stay. Often the nobles of the city would allow them some lodgings for a time, she knew now that they had done that not out of the goodness of their hearts but because she and Viserys had been viewed as some sort of entertainment, the last two heir of a Great Family. That view had provided warmth and shelter for them for a few years, until it waned, and soon they were kicked out of the places where they once were welcome guests, and Viserys was forced to sell many of the possessions they had, including their mother’s crown. It was this she thought that had finally driven Viserys mad, he had been so sweet and caring when they had been young, she knew it couldn’t have been easy for him having to find a way to provide for them both but also swallow his pride. It had made him bitter and angry, and he had taken it out on her.

 Then they had come to Pentos. Viserys had told her that a powerful man with connections in Westeros would be providing shelter for them from now on. That man had been Magister Illyrio Mopatis, the magister was a big man with an even bigger belly, he had regaled them with stories about how in his youth he had been one of the finest swordsmen in Essos, but the years had turned his muscle to fat, and he had a silvery beard to disguise the many chins he undoubtedly had. Viserys had spent the time they were in Pentos plotting and scheming with the magister, plotting how to win back the Iron Throne, which was his by rights, as the last remaining male heir of their father and brother. Illyrio had whispered in her brother’s ear that the people of the Seven Kingdoms hungered for his return from exile, that they drank secret toasts to his health, and prayed for the day that he would return. She saw how that inflated her brother’s ego, how he hungered more for the throne each and every day. Then the magister had told Viserys that if he truly wished to win the Iron Throne, he would need an army, not just any army though, a Dothraki army. The price, her maidenhead. And so she had been sold to the Khal with the biggest Khalasar, Khal Drogo.

She had been terrified the day of her wedding. Khal Drogo and the Dothraki had seemed like savages to her, the type she had heard of as a child wandering the free cities. Her brother though paid no heed to her worries, and so she put on a brave front and wed Khal Drogo. She and Drogo had at first been like strangers to one another, the only time she saw him had been at night when he would enter their tent and take her from behind and claim his right. Eventually she had plucked up the courage to ask how to please him from one of her handmaidens, then things had changed. She knew how to please him, and soon she found that the coupling began to please her as well, she started learning Dothraki, to become better acquainted with her people, and as they made their way toward Vaes Dothrak, where she would be presented, herself and Drogo grew closer and closer, and she had become pregnant with their babe. Viserys though had grown increasingly impatient. He wanted an army, and he wanted one immediately. He was mocked by the Dothraki, he was mocked by her husband, and the fear that she had felt of him as a girl gradually began to disappear the more time she spent with her sun and stars.

When they had arrived at Vaes Dothrak, the old crones had decreed that her child- whom she had decided to name Rhaego- would be the Stallion that mounted the world, an ancient hero from Dothraki lore who would be the khal of khals. Viserys had snapped, he had tried to steal her eggs, he had tried to kill her babe, and so Drogo crowned him, not with iron and bronze, but with molten gold. She did not mourn her brother, not as he had been when he had died, the man he had been when he had died was cruel and mad, she mourned the boy he had been, the sweet and caring boy, who had told her stories of Westeros and their family. Once her brother had been buried in the sands of Vaes Dothrak, they moved onward raiding and pillaging in the east, Drogo had as such lost interest in going to Westeros, and for a time so had Dany, she had been happy to get to know her husband even further and to build up more of her confidence. But then her dreams forced her to urge her sun and stars that the path, the only path they should be taking was the one that would lead them to Westeros and to the Iron Throne. Drogo had been stubborn and refused to contemplate such a thing, until an assassin had been sent by the usurper to try and kill her and her unborn babe. Then her sun and stars had sworn revenge on the Usurper and promised to seat Rhaego on the Iron Throne.

And so the raiding and pillaging had continued, they rode further and further east, taking slaves where the cities and villages they past did not pay tribute, and taking gold and more from the places that did pay tribute. During one such raid her sun and stars received a fatal wound, and the wound festered. Ser Jorah- her bear- told her that her position with the Khalasar depended on Drogo, but that was not the only reason why she had begged Mirri Maz Durr to save her sun and stars, she had lost so much already, she did not think she could stand to lose even more. The maegi performed a blood magic ritual which she had ensured Dany would bring her sun and stars back to her, but Dany had gone into labour whilst the ritual was being performed and so her bear had carried her into the tent, and when she had awoken several days later it was to find that her babe had been stillborn, a creature not a babe, and her sun and stars was a pale husk of a man, an empty shell. The Khalasar began to fragment, in an attempt to spare herself and her sun and stars from more pain, Dany had smothered Drogo with a pillow, and then mounted his body on a pyre along with the maegi’s and then with the three eggs she had been given as a wedding gift walked onto the burning pyre, and emerged unharmed but for some her hair singed and her eyebrows burnt off, she emerged with three dragons on her shoulders. Drogon a black dragon, Rhaegal a green dragon and Viserion a pale white dragon.

They rode through the red waste for many days and nights, the days and nights turned into weeks, and began to feel like months and years. Eventually some of her scouts had returned from their mission with three emissaries from the city of Qarth, Xaro Xhaon Daxos, Pyat Pyree and Quaithe. They led her to Qarth, where she and her remaining Khalasar stayed in the manse of Xaro Daxos as “honoured guests” Dany spent her time there trying to convince the nobles of Qarth to help fund her journey back to Westeros, promising them handsome rewards once she had reclaimed the Iron Throne, but it had soon become clear that all they truly wanted was her dragons, when Drogon had gone missing from where she had kept him in Xaro’s manse. Her enquiries had led her to the House of the Undying the true rulers of Qarth, in the House of the Undying she had seen many visions, some had made her weep with sadness, others had been plain terrifying, but it was obvious to her now that these visions were events from the past, present and future. She saw the wedding of two people- a man and a woman- who looked exactly like her, she saw the birth of her brother Rhaegar, she saw flames consume a great castle, she saw her brother  with his wife cradling a babe speaking of  prophecy, she saw the same brother slain on the Trident rubies falling from his chest, she saw a room in the desert covered with ice, blue roses falling down and blood everywhere, she saw a black dragon emerge from the sea coated in red, she saw a griffin crying as a boy took his first steps and said his first word, and she saw an egg red as blood with golden flecks and black whorls, and watched as the egg hatched and a fiery dragon emerged with eyes as dark as night, and then she heard the voices of the undying whispering in tantalising voice, saying she would ride three mounts, light three fires, and know three betrayals. Then the Undying had tried to kill her, but with Drogon’s help she had  killed the Undying and burnt their manse down.

That had driven herself and her fragile Khalasar out of Qarth but not before learning of the Usurper Robert Baratheon’s death and the war that was still engulfing the Seven Kingdoms. She took her Khalasar and her dragons to the docks of Qarth looking for a ship to take them wherever they might go, but a sorrowful man had tried to kill her, the man had barely moved when an old man who had been following her killed the man, and presented himself as Arstan Whitebeard and his big giant of a companion as Strong Belwas, Whitebeard said that he had been sent by Illyrio to bring her back to Pentos with three ships and so she had boarded the ships with her Khalasar and her dragons, but following the advice of her bear had decided that instead of heading to Pentos she would go east to Astapor and buy herself an army.

On the voyage to Astapor she took the time to learn more about Arstan Whitebeard and her home. She learnt that Arstan had once fought alongside her brother Rhaegar, and so she had bombarded the man with questions about her eldest brother, who had died before she was born. From what she heard Arstan say of her brother, Dany deduced that he had been a kind and noble man, who had fallen in love with the Stark Girl, and so had helped free her from a burden to which she had not asked to be put under. The usurper in his rage and arrogance, had dared to challenge her brother, for what he saw as rightfully his, and her brother had paid the price for daring to dream. That had simply enflamed her hatred of the usurper and his dogs, and she swore a silent vow to herself that she would make them all pay when she landed in Westeros.

Also on the voyage she had learnt one other important thing. Her bear confessed his love for her, and kissed her. Dany had been so startled by the act that she had not known what to truly do, what her bear had done was inappropriate, she was his queen, he merely an advisor. She had not spoken of the event to him or anyone else, but to sate the increasing loneliness she had felt since Drogo’s death she took Irri to her bed as a lover, but even the gentle caresses and kisses they shared could not sate the hunger she felt stirring within herself. She had debated with herself over perhaps taking her bear up on his offer and making him her love, but decided against it would do no good to have her advisor as her lover, no good at all.

They landed in Astapor to purchase Unsullied to help build her army, and Dany had been shocked by the level of hardship that some of the people in the city faced. Poverty, famine and death seemed to be the constant companions of the simple folk and the slaves, and the wealthy of the city dined on wine and the finest delicacies the east had to offer behind their high walls and their gold. The man who sold her the unsullied was rude and an insolent pig Dany thought. He once more took a liking to her dragons, and she agreed rather reluctantly to give him Drogon in exchange for the unsullied, but of course the man thought she knew not the language he spoke, but her time wandering the free cities with her brother had taught some high valyrian, and so she had understood the words and the insults that the man had spoken to Missandei who was now her helper, and so when the unsullied became hers, she commanded them to betray their once masters and she had Drogon burn those men who did not die by unsullied weapons. She freed the unsullied from their slavery, and then she sacked Astapor, freeing the slaves and declaring them freed men and women and children, the slaves then revolted against their previous owners, and killed them.

Yunkai was the next city in her path; the city was old and prosperous and had paid for the services of two sellsword companies, the Second Sons and the Stormcrows. Dany marched her unsullied to the gates and treated with the captains of both sellsword companies. The Stormcrows she won over when Daario Naharis one of the captains killed his fellow commanders and gave her the allegiance of his company, the Second Sons she got drunk one wine from Qarth, and attacked them in the night whilst they were drunk or asleep. The butchery that followed made her stomach uneasy, but she knew she had no choice if she wished to regain the Iron Throne she would not be able to do it through parleying all the time. The city of Yunkai yielded though once it became clear that they would be crushed should the fighting continued, and so they gave into her demands. The slaves of Yunkai were freed and joined her ever growing army, though the wise masters remained in control of the city.

Then as they approached Meeren, the first or was it the second- she was not sure- of her betrayals came true. The Titan’s Bastard tried to kill her and Arstan Whitebeard killed the man, and then revealed to her that he was none other than Ser Barristan the bold, the man who had served her father in his Kingsguard and had fought alongside her brother Rhaegar on the Trident, but had also served the Usurper on his Kingsguard. Dany had been furious when she had learnt that, and had demanded of Ser Barristan what had brought him here to Essos, to her service, why now after so many years was he serving her? The old man had gotten down on one knee and had begged for her forgiveness and said that he regretted ever serving the usurper, but that the need for secrecy so far had merely been a precaution on his part as he waited to see whether she had been as mad as her father. She had bristled at that and had nearly been about to call for his head when he pointed out that her bear had also been spying on her, had reported her every move since he had joined her to the Spider, the man who served on the usurper’s court, it was his whisperings that had allowed the assassin to find her.

She had been wroth then and demanded that they leave her side. She had sent them deep into the sewers of Meeren, to take the city unawares, whilst secretly hoping both men would die during the attack. They were successful though, and managed to free the slaves kept in the fighting pits as well as opening the gates. That had allowed her unsullied to ride in and take the city, the slaves she had freed from Astapor and Yunkai marched into the city and began looting and killing whomever they came across, the slaves in Meeren fought back initially but then began helping their fellow slaves. Meeren had fallen and with it had the last echoes of slavery in Slaver’s Bay. Dany had taken the Great Pyramid as her seat, and so it was that the morning following the taking of Meeren she found herself sitting on a long back chair- a makeshift throne- and waited for Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah to be brought before her.

Though she was still angry with both of them, they had done well and Ser Jorah had served her faithfully, he claimed he loved her, if he was willing to beg forgiveness and admit to his wrongdoing she would forgive him. Whether or not the same could be said for Ser Barristan she knew not. “Bring them in.” She said to Aggo.

She heard jostling and some cursing and soon she saw Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah kneeling before her. She looked upon them coldly. “I thank you for doing what you did yesterday in helping me take this city,” Ser Jorah looked up at her, hope shining in his eyes, she felt her heart beginning to tighten. “But I have not forgotten your lies, your treason.”

“Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah began, but he stopped when Dany raised her hand silencing him.

“You both lied to me. You did not tell me your true name nor purpose here Ser Barristan. That makes it hard for me to truly believe that you are contrite and sincere in your reasoning. And You Ser Jorah, you who have been with me since Pentos. You whom I would have taken with me as a victor back to Westeros, you betrayed me for coin? What do you have to say for yourselves?”

She heard Ser Barristan swallow before he opened his mouth to speak. “Your Grace, I admit that what I did was wrong. I regret bending the knee to Robert Baratheon now. The man was a fine warrior but a terrible king. I should have gone and sought your brother and yourself much earlier than I did, you should have not been left to fend for yourselves for as long as you did. I failed in my duty to your family, and I beg your forgiveness. However, I understand if you do not wish to keep me by your side, and I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit for me.” He bowed his head once he had finished speaking.

Ser Jorah snorted then and said boldly. “Khaleesi, I have known you since Pentos when you were no more than a frightened little girl. I have seen you grow into a powerful and attractive woman; you are capable of so much greatness. I admit that I did report your movements for a time to the Spider, for gold yes, but for a chance to go home. I know it was wrong, and I stopped long before Drogo died. I swear to you, I have not written to the Usurper or his family since we marched for Vaes Dothrak.”

Dany looked at both men, and saw in their eyes that they meant what they said. She felt something stirring within her, she felt differing emotions warring inside her, these two men swore that they would protect her through thick and thin, but they had both betrayed her at some point she needed to set an example otherwise she would never know who to trust and who not to. She sighed, and looked at both men. “Stand,” she said. “I have heard your explanations. You have both betrayed me, but you have slightly redeemed yourselves in my eyes with your acts last night. Know this though, the dragon does not forget, nor will I forgive so easily the next time. You may both stay, but should I catch a whiff of betrayal from either of you again, I will feed you to my dragons.”

Both men bowed and said their thanks. Dany sighed internally; it was going to be a long day now.

* * *

**Sansa**

There were two memories Sansa had of her time in King’s Landing since her father’s death. The first was of the tourney for Joffrey’s name day:

_The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him._

_"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."_

_Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."_

_"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."_

_Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey's enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king's command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The cometwas red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn't the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?_

_Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said._

_"Thank you, ser." Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her._

_"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lackwit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question . . . except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punish her. He used the other five for that._

_Ser Arys had light brown hair and a face that was not unpleasant to look upon. Today he made quite the dashing figure, with his white silk cloak fastened at the shoulder by a golden leaf, and a spreading oak tree worked upon the breast of his tunic in shining gold thread. "Who do you think will win the day's honors?" Sansa asked as they descended the steps arm in arm._

_"I will," Ser Arys answered, smiling. "Yet I fear the triumph will have no savor. This will be a small field, and poor. No more than two score will enter the lists, including squires and freeriders. There is small honor in unhorsing green boys."_

_The last tourney had been different, Sansa reflected. King Robert had staged it in her father's honor. High lords and fabled champions had come from all over the realm to compete, and the whole city had turned out to watch. She remembered the splendor of it: the field of pavilions along the river with a knight's shield hung before each door, the long rows of silken pennants waving in the wind, the gleam of sunlight on bright steel and gilded spurs. The days had rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, and the nights had been full of feasts and song. Those had been the most magical days of her life, but they seemed a memory from another age now. Robert Baratheon was dead, and her father as well, beheaded for a traitor on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Now there were three kings in the land, and war raged beyond the Trident while the city filled with desperate men. Small wonder that they had to hold Joff's tournament behind the thick stone walls of the Red Keep._

_"Will the queen attend, do you think?" Sansa always felt safer when Cersei was there to restrain her son._

_"I fear not, my lady. The council is meeting, some urgent business." Ser Arys dropped his voice. "Lord Tywin has gone to ground at Harrenhal instead of bringing his army to the city as the queen commanded. Her Grace is furious." He fell silent as a column of Lannister guardsmen marched past, in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms. Ser Arys was fond of gossip, but only when he was certain that no one was listening._

_The carpenters had erected a gallery and lists in the outer bailey. It was a poor thing indeed, and the meager throng that had gathered to watch filled but half the seats. Most of the spectators were guardsmen in the gold cloaks of the City Watch or the crimson of House Lannister; of lords and ladies there were but a paltry few, the handful that remained at court. Grey-faced Lord Gyles Rosby was coughing into a square of pink silk. Lady Tanda was bracketed by her daughters, placid dull Lollys and acid-tongued Falyse. Ebon-skinned Jalabhar Xho was an exile who had no other refuge, Lady Ermesande a babe seated on her wet nurse's lap. The talk was she would soon be wed to one of the queen's cousins, so the Lannisters might claim her lands._

_The king was shaded beneath a crimson canopy, one leg thrown negligently over the carved wooden arm of his chair. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen sat behind him. In the back of the royal box, Sandor Clegane stood at guard, his hands resting on his swordbelt. The white cloak of the Kingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders and fastened with a jeweled brooch, the snowy cloth looking somehow unnatural against his brown roughspun tunic and studded leather jerkin. "Lady Sansa," the Hound announced curtly when he saw her. His voice was as rough as the sound of a saw on wood. The burn scars on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch when he spoke._

_Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa's name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. "Sansa, did you hear? I'm to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could." Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe._

_Sansa would have given anything to be with him. "I fear for the life of your foeman," she told Tommen solemnly._

_"His foeman will be stuffed with straw," Joff said as he rose. The king was clad in a gilded breastplate with a roaring lion engraved upon its chest, as if he expected the war to engulf them at any moment. He was thirteen today, and tall for his age, with the green eyes and golden hair of the Lannisters._

_"Your Grace," she said, dipping in a curtsy._

_Ser Arys bowed. "Pray pardon me, Your Grace. I must equip myself for the lists."_

_Joffrey waved a curt dismissal while he studied Sansa from head to heels. "I'm pleased you wore my stones."_

_So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved. "I thank you for them . . . and for your tender words. I pray you a lucky name day, Your Grace."_

_"Sit," Joff commanded, gesturing her to the empty seat beside his own. "Have you heard? The Beggar King is dead."_

_"Who?" For a moment Sansa was afraid he meant Robb._

_"Viserys. The last son of Mad King Aerys. He's been going about the Free Cities since before I was born, calling himself a king. Well, Mother says the Dothraki finally crowned him. With molten gold." He laughed. "That's funny, don't you think? The dragon was their sigil. It's almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I'll feed him to wolves after I've caught him. Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"_

_"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him. "Will you enter the lists today?" she asked quickly._

_The king frowned. "My lady mother said it was not fitting, since the tourney is in my honor. Otherwise I would have been champion. Isn't that so, dog?"_

_The Hound's mouth twitched. "Against this lot? Why not?"_

_He had been the champion in her father's tourney, Sansa remembered. "Will you joust today, my lord?" she asked him._

_Clegane's voice was thick with contempt. "Wouldn't be worth the bother of arming myself. This is a tournament of gnats."_

_The king laughed. "My dog has a fierce bark. Perhaps I should command him to fight the day's champion. To the death." Joffrey was fond of making men fight to the death._

_"You'd be one knight the poorer." The Hound had never taken a knight's vows. His brother was a knight, and he hated his brother._

_A blare of trumpets sounded. The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. Once that would have set her heart to pounding, but that was before he had answered her plea for mercy by presenting her with her father's head. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still._

_"Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard," a herald called._

_Ser Meryn entered from the west side of the yard, clad in gleaming white plate chased with gold and mounted on a milk-white charger with a flowing grey mane. His cloak streamed behind him like a field of snow. He carried a twelve-foot lance._

_"Ser Hobber of House Redwyne, of the Arbor," the herald sang. Ser Hobber trotted in from the east, riding a black stallion caparisoned in burgundy and blue. His lance was striped in the same colors, and his shield bore the grape cluster sigil of his House. The Redwyne twins were the queen's unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey's tourney. Not their own, she thought._

_At a signal from the master of revels, the combatants couched their lances and put their spurs to their mounts. There were shouts from the watching guardsmen and the lords and ladies in the gallery. The knights came together in the center of the yard with a great shock of wood and steel. The white lance and the striped one exploded in splinters within a second of each other. Hobber Redwyne reeled at the impact, yet somehow managed to keep his seat. Wheeling their horses about at the far end of the lists, the knights tossed down their broken lances and accepted replacements from the squires. Ser Horas Redwyne, Ser Hobber's twin, shouted encouragement to his brother._

_But on their second pass Ser Meryn swung the point of his lance to strike Ser Hobber in the chest, driving him from the saddle to crash resoundingly to the earth. Ser Horas cursed and ran out to help his battered brother from the field._

_"Poorly ridden," declared King Joffrey._

_"Ser Balon Swann, of Stonehelm in the Red Watch," came the herald's cry. Wide white wings ornamented Ser Balon's greathelm, and black and white swans fought on his shield. "Morros of House Slynt, heir to Lord Janos of Harrenhal."_

_"Look at that upjumped oaf," Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to hear. Morros, a mere squire and a new-made squire at that, was having difficulty managing lance and shield. The lance was a knight's weapon, Sansa knew, the Slynts lowborn. Lord Janos had been no more than commander of the City Watch before Joffrey had raised him to Harrenhal and the council._

_I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed._

_Morros wore a checkered black-and-gold cloak over black armor inlaid with golden scrollwork. On his shield was the bloody spear his father had chosen as the sigil of their new-made house. But he did not seem to know what to do with the shield as he urged his horse forward, and Ser Balon's point struck the blazon square. Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. But when they disentangled Morros Slynt from his horse, they found him bloodied but alive. "Tommen, we picked the wrong foe for you," the king told his brother. "The straw knight jousts better than that one."_

_Next came Ser Horas Redwyne's turn. He fared better than his twin, vanquishing an elderly knight whose mount was bedecked with silver griffins against a striped blue-and-white field. Splendid as he looked, the old man made a poor contest of it. Joffrey curled his lip. "This is a feeble show."_

_"I warned you," said the Hound. "Gnats."_

_The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon's mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages._

_"Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish," cried the herald. "Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard. "_

_The freerider, a small man in dented plate without device, duly appeared at the west end of the yard, but of his opponent there was no sign. Finally a chestnut stallion trotted into view in a swirl of crimson and scarlet silks, but Ser Dontos was not on it. The knight appeared a moment later, cursing and staggering, clad in breastplate and plumed helm and nothing else. His legs were pale and skinny, and his manhood flopped about obscenely as he chased after his horse. The watchers roared and shouted insults. Catching his horse by the bridle, Ser Dontos tried to mount, but the animal would not stand still and the knight was so drunk that his bare foot kept missing the stirrup._

_By then the crowd was howling with laughter . . . all but the king. Joffrey had a look in his eyes that Sansa remembered well, the same look he'd had at the Great Sept of Baelor the day he pronounced death on Lord Eddard Stark. Finally Ser Dontos the Red gave it up for a bad job, sat down in the dirt, and removed his plumed helm. "I lose," he shouted. "Fetch me some wine."_

_The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it."_

_Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't."_

_Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?"_

_Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn't meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm._

_"Did you say I can't? Did you?"_

_"Please," Sansa said, "I only meant . . . it would be ill luck, Your Grace . . . to, to kill a man on your name day."_

_"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."_

_"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . . "_

_Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this._

_"The girl speaks truly," the Hound rasped. "What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year." His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she'd said, desperate to avoid punishment._

_Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."_

_"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."_

_The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."_

_Ser Dontos, sobered by his near brush with death, crawled to his knees. "Thank you, Your Grace. And you, my lady. Thank you."_

_As a brace of Lannister guardsmen led him off, the master of revels approached the box. "Your Grace," he said, "shall I summon a new challenger for Brune, or proceed with the next tilt?"_

_"Neither. These are gnats, not knights. I'd have them all put to death, only it's my name day. The tourney is done. Get them all out of my sight."_

_The master of revels bowed, but Prince Tommen was not so obedient. "I'm supposed to ride against the straw man."_

_"Not today."_

_"But I want to ride!"_

_"I don't care what you want."_

_"Mother said I could ride."_

_"She said," Princess Myrcella agreed._

_"Mother said," mocked the king. "Don't be childish."_

_"We're children," Myrcella declared haughtily. "We're supposed to be childish."_

_The Hound laughed. "She has you there."_

_Joffrey was beaten. "Very well. Even my brother couldn't tilt any worse than these others. Master, bring out the quintain, Tommen wants to be a gnat."_

_Tommen gave a shout of joy and ran off to be readied, his chubby little legs pumping hard. "Luck," Sansa called to him._

_They set up the quintain at the far end of the lists while the prince's pony was being saddled. Tommen's opponent was a child-sized leather warrior stuffed with straw and mounted on a pivot, with a shield in one hand and a padded mace in the other. Someone had fastened a pair of antlers to the knight's head. Joffrey's father King Robert had worn antlers on his helm, Sansa remembered . . . but so did his uncle Lord Renly, Robert's brother, who had turned traitor and crowned himself king._

_A pair of squires buckled the prince into his ornate silver-and-crimson armor. A tall plume of red feathers sprouted from the crest of his helm, and the lion of Lannister and crowned stag of Baratheon frolicked together on his shield. The squires helped him mount, and Ser Aron Santagar, the Red Keep's master-at-arms, stepped forward and handed Tommen a blunted silver longsword with a leaf-shaped blade, crafted to fit an eight-year-old hand._

_Tommen raised the blade high. "Casterly Rock!" he shouted in a high boyish voice as he put his heels into his pony and started across the hard-packed dirt at the quintain. Lady Tanda and Lord Gyles started a ragged cheer, and Sansa added her voice to theirs. The king brooded in silence._

_Tommen got his pony up to a brisk trot, waved his sword vigorously, and struck the knight's shield a solid blow as he went by. The quintain spun, the padded mace flying around to give the prince a mighty whack in the back of his head. Tommen spilled from the saddle, his new armor rattling like a bag of old pots as he hit the ground. His sword went flying, his pony cantered away across the bailey, and a great gale of derision went up. King Joffrey laughed longest and loudest of all._

_"Oh," Princess Myrcella cried. She scrambled out of the box and ran to her little brother._

_Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. "You should go with her," she told the king. "Your brother might be hurt."_

_Joffrey shrugged. "What if he is?"_

_"You should help him up and tell him how well he rode." Sansa could not seem to stop herself._

_"He got knocked off his horse and fell in the dirt," the king pointed out. "That's not riding well."_

_"Look," the Hound interrupted. "The boy has courage. He's going to try again."_

_They were helping Prince Tommen mount his pony. If only Tommen were the elder instead of Joffrey, Sansa thought. I wouldn't mind marrying Tommen._

_The sounds from the gatehouse took them by surprise. Chains rattled as the portcullis was drawn upward, and the great gates opened to the creak of iron hinges. "Who told them to open the gate?" Joff demanded. With the troubles in the city, the gates of the Red Keep had been closed for days._

_A column of riders emerged from beneath the portcullis with a clink of steel and a clatter of hooves. Clegane stepped close to the king, one hand on the hilt of his longsword. The visitors were dinted and haggard and dusty, yet the standard they carried was the lion of Lannister, golden on its crimson field. A few wore the red cloaks and mail of Lannister men-at-arms, but more were freeriders and sellswords, armored in oddments and bristling with sharp steel . . . and there were others, monstrous savages out of one of Old Nan's tales, the scary ones Bran used to love. They were clad in shabby skins and boiled leather, with long hair and fierce beards. Some wore bloodstained bandages over their brows or wrapped around their hands, and others were missing eyes, ears, and fingers._

_In their midst, riding on a tall red horse in a strange high saddle that cradled him back and front, was the queen's dwarf brother Tyrion Lannister, the one they called the Imp. He had let his beard grow to cover his pushed-in face, until it was a bristly tangle of yellow and black hair, coarse as wire. Down his back flowed a shadowskin cloak, black fur striped with white. He held the reins in his left hand and carried his right arm in a white silk sling, but otherwise looked as grotesque as Sansa remembered from when he had visited Winterfell. With his bulging brow and mismatched eyes, he was still the ugliest man she had ever chanced to look upon._

_Yet Tommen put his spurs into his pony and galloped headlong across the yard, shouting with glee. One of the savages, a huge shambling man so hairy that his face was all but lost beneath his whiskers, scooped the boy out of his saddle, armor and all, and deposited him on the ground beside his uncle. Tommen's breathless laughter echoed off the walls as Tyrion clapped him on the backplate, and Sansa was startled to see that the two were of a height. Myrcella came running after her brother, and the dwarf picked her up by the waist and spun her in a circle, squealing._

_When he lowered her back to the ground, the little man kissed her lightly on the brow and came waddling across the yard toward Joffrey. Two of his men followed close behind him; a black-haired black-eyed sellsword who moved like a stalking cat, and a gaunt youth with an empty socket where one eye should have been. Tommen and Myrcella trailed after them._

_The dwarf went to one knee before the king. "Your Grace."_

_"You," Joffrey said._

_"Me," the Imp agreed, "although a more courteous greeting might be in order, for an uncle and an elder."_

_"They said you were dead," the Hound said._

_The little man gave the big one a look. One of his eyes was green, one was black, and both were cool. "I was speaking to the king, not to his cur."_

_"I'm glad you're not dead," said Princess Myrcella._

_"We share that view, sweet child." Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."_

_Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn't the gods who'd been cruel, it was Joffrey._

_"I am sorry for your loss as well, Joffrey," the dwarf said._

_"What loss?"_

_"Your royal father? A large fierce man with a black beard; you'll recall him if you try. He was king before you."_

_"Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad, a boar killed him."_

_"Is that what ‘they' say, Your Grace?"_

_Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armour is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."_

_"A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier . . . yet I thank you for the sentiment. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?"_

_"She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles." He gave Sansa an angry look, as if it were her fault. "He's been taken by the Starks and we've lost Riverrun and now her stupid brother is calling himself a king."_

_The dwarf smiled crookedly. "All sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days."_

_Joff did not know what to make of that, though he looked suspicious and out of sorts. "Yes. Well. I am pleased you're not dead, Uncle. Did you bring me a gift for my name day?"_

_"I did. My wits."_

_"I'd sooner have Robb Stark's head," Joff said with a sly glance at Sansa. "Tommen, Myrcella, come."_

_Sandor Clegane lingered behind a moment. "I'd guard that tongue of yours, little man," he warned, before he strode off after his liege._

_Sansa was left with the dwarf and his monsters. She tried to think of what else she might say. "You hurt your arm," she managed at last._

_"One of your northmen hit me with a morningstar during the battle on the Green Fork. I escaped him by falling off my horse." His grin turned into something softer as he studied her face. "Is it grief for your lord father that makes you so sad?"_

_"My father was a traitor," Sansa said at once. "And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well." That reflex she had learned quickly. "I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."_

_"No doubt. As loyal as a deer surrounded by wolves."_

_"Lions," she whispered, without thinking. She glanced about nervously, but there was no one close enough to hear._

_Lannister reached out and took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "I am only a little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you." Bowing, he said "But now you must excuse me. I have urgent business with queen and council."_

 

_Sansa watched him walk off, his body swaying heavily from side to side with every step, like something from a grotesquerie. He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He's still a Lannister, her brother and Joff's uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again._

The second was the day after the Battle of the Blackwater when Lord Tywin Lannister and the Tyrells had come to be presented before the crown and court, to celebrate a hard earned victory.

_The throne room was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords and ladies filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows, jostling like fishwives on a dock._

_The denizens of Joffrey's court had striven to outdo each other today. Jalabhar Xho was all in feathers, a plumage so fantastic and extravagant that he seemed like to take flight. The High Septon's crystal crown fired rainbows through the air every time he moved his head. At the council table, Queen Cersei shimmered in a cloth-of-gold gown slashed in burgundy velvet, while beside her Varys fussed and simpered in a lilac brocade. Moon Boy and Ser Dontos wore new suits of motley, clean as a spring morning. Even Lady Tanda and her daughters looked pretty in matching gowns of turquoise silk and vair, and Lord Gyles was coughing into a square of scarlet silk trimmed with golden lace. King Joffrey sat above them all, amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was in crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head his heavy golden crown._

_Squirming through a press of knights, squires, and rich townfolk, Sansa reached the front of the gallery just as a blast of trumpets announced the entry of Lord Tywin Lannister._

_He rode his warhorse down the length of the hall and dismounted before the Iron Throne. Sansa had never seen such armor; all burnished red steel, inlaid with golden scrollwork and ornamentation. His rondels were sunbursts, the roaring lion that crowned his helm had ruby eyes, and a lioness on each shoulder fastened a cloth-of-gold cloak so long and heavy that it draped the hindquarters of his charger. Even the horse's armor was gilded, and his bardings were shimmering crimson silk emblazoned with the lion of Lannister._

_The Lord of Casterly Rock made such an impressive figure that it was a shock when his destrier dropped a load of dung right at the base of the throne. Joffrey had to step gingerly around it as he descended to embrace his grandfather and proclaim him Savior of the City. Sansa covered her mouth to hide a nervous smile._

_Joff made a show of asking his grandfather to assume governance of the realm, and Lord Tywin solemnly accepted the responsibility, "until Your Grace does come of age." Then squires removed his armor and Joff fastened the Hand's chain of office around his neck. Lord Tywin took a seat at the council table beside the queen. After the destrier was led off and his homage removed, Cersei nodded for the ceremonies to continue._

_A fanfare of brazen trumpets greeted each of the heroes as he stepped between the great oaken doors. Heralds cried his name and deeds for all to hear, and the noble knights and highborn ladies cheered as lustily as cutthroats at a cockfight. Pride of place was given to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, a once-powerful man gone to fat, yet still handsome. His sons followed him in; Ser Loras and his older brother Ser Garlan the Gallant. The three dressed alike, in green velvet trimmed with sable._

_The king descended the throne once more to greet them, a great honor. He fastened about the throat of each a chain of roses wrought in soft yellow gold, from which hung a golden disc with the lion of Lannister picked out in rubies. "The roses support the lion, as the might of Highgarden supports the realm," proclaimed Joffrey. "If there is any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."_

_And now it comes, thought Sansa._

_"Your Grace," said Ser Loras, "I beg the honor of serving in your Kingsguard, to defend you against your enemies."_

_Joffrey drew the Knight of Flowers to his feet and kissed him on his cheek. "Done, brother."_

_Lord Tyrell bowed his head. "There is no greater pleasure than to serve the King's Grace. If I was deemed worthy to join your royal council, you would find none more loyal or true."_

_Joff put a hand on Lord Tyrell's shoulder and kissed him when he stood. "Your wish is granted."_

_Ser Garlan Tyrell, five years senior to Ser Loras, was a taller bearded version of his more famous younger brother. He was thicker about the chest and broader at the shoulders, and though his face was comely enough, he lacked Ser Loras's startling beauty. "Your Grace," Garlan said when the king approached him, "I have a maiden sister, Margaery, the delight of our House. She was wed to Renly Baratheon, as you know, but Lord Renly went to war before the marriage could be consummated, so she remains innocent. Margaery has heard tales of your wisdom, courage, and chivalry, and has come to love you from afar. I beseech you to send for her, to take her hand in marriage, and to wed your House to mine for all time."_

_King Joffrey made a show of looking surprised. "Ser Garlan, your sister's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."_

_Queen Cersei got to her feet in a rustle of skirts. "Your Grace, in the judgment of your small council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne even now. Sire, your councillors beg you, for the good of your realm, set Sansa Stark aside. The Lady Margaery will make you a far more suitable queen."_

_Like a pack of trained dogs, the lords and ladies in the hall began to shout their pleasure. "Margaery," they called. "Give us Margaery!" and "No traitor queens! Tyrell! Tyrell!"_

_Joffrey raised a hand. "I would like to heed the wishes of my people, Mother, but I took a holy vow."_

_The High Septon stepped forward. "Your Grace, the gods hold bethrothal solemn, but your father, King Robert of blessed memory, made this pact before the Starks of Winterfell had revealed their falseness. Their crimes against the realm have freed you from any promise you might have made. So far as the Faith is concerned, there is no valid marriage contract 'twixt you and Sansa Stark."_

_A tumult of cheering filled the throne room, and cries of "Margaery, Margaery" erupted all around her. Sansa leaned forward, her hands tight around the gallery's wooden rail. She knew what came next, but she was still frightened of what Joffrey might say, afraid that he would refuse to release her even now, when his whole kingdom depended upon it. She felt as if she were back again on the marble steps outside the Great Sept of Baelor, waiting for her prince to grant her father mercy, and instead hearing him command Ilyn Payne to strike off his head. Please, she prayed fervently, make him say it, make him say it._

_Lord Tywin was looking at his grandson. Joff gave him a sullen glance, shifted his feet, and helped Ser Garlan Tyrell to rise. "The gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. I will wed your sweet sister, and gladly, ser." He kissed Ser Garlan on a bearded cheek as the cheers rose all around them._

_Sansa felt curiously light-headed. I am free. She could feel eyes upon her. I must not smile, she reminded herself. The queen had warned her; no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed the world must look distraught. "I will not have my son humiliated," Cersei said. "Do you hear me?"_

_"Yes. But if I'm not to be queen, what will become of me?"_

_"That will need to be determined. For the moment, you shall remain here at court, as our ward."_

_"I want to go home."_

_The queen was irritated by that. "You should have learned by now, none of us get the things we want."_

_I have, though, Sansa thought. I am free of Joffrey. I will not have to kiss him, nor give him my maidenhood, nor bear him children. Let Margaery Tyrell have all that, poor girl._

_By the time the outburst died down, the Lord of Highgarden had been seated at the council table, and his sons had joined the other knights and lordlings beneath the windows. Sansa tried to look forlorn and abandoned as other heroes of the Battle of the Blackwater were summoned forth to receive their rewards._

_Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, marched down the length of the hall flanked by his twin sons Horror and Slobber, the former limping from a wound taken in the battle. After them followed Lord Mathis Rowan in a snowy doublet with a great tree worked upon the breast in gold thread; Lord Randyll Tarly, lean and balding, a greatsword across his back in a jeweled scabbard; Ser Kevan Lannister, a thickset balding man with a close-trimmed beard; Ser Addam Marbrand, coppery hair streaming to his shoulders; the great western lords Lydden, Crakehall, and Brax._

_Next came four of lesser birth who had distinguished themselves in the fighting: the one-eyed knight Ser Philip Foote, who had slain Lord Bryce Caron in single combat; the freerider Lothor Brune, who'd cut his way through half a hundred Fossoway men-at-arms to capture Ser Jon of the green apple and kill Ser Bryan and Ser Edwyd of the red, thereby winning himself the name Lothor Apple-Eater; Willit, a grizzled man-atarms in the service of Ser Harys Swyft, who'd pulled his master from beneath his dying horse and defended him against a dozen attackers; and a downy-cheeked squire named Josmyn Peckledon, who had killed two knights, wounded a third, and captured two more, though he could not have been more than fourteen. Willit was borne in on a litter, so grievous were his wounds._

_Ser Kevan had taken a seat beside his brother Lord Tywin. When the heralds had finished telling of each hero's deeds, he rose. "It is His Grace's wish that these good men be rewarded for their valor. By his decree, Ser Philip shall henceforth be Lord Philip of House Foote, and to him shall go all the lands, rights, and incomes of House Caron. Lothor Brune to be raised to the estate of knighthood, and granted land and keep in the riverlands at war's end. To Josmyn Peckledon, a sword and suit of plate, his choice of any warhorse in the royal stables, and knighthood as soon as he shall come of age. And lastly, for Goodman Willit, a spear with a silver-banded haft, a hauberk of new-forged ringmail, and a full helm with visor. Further, the goodman's sons shall be taken into the service of House Lannister at Casterly Rock, the elder as a squire and the younger as a page, with the chance to advance to knighthood if they serve loyally and well. To all this, the King's Hand and the small council consent."_

_The captains of the king's warships Wildwind, Prince Aemon, and River Arrow were honored next, along with some under officers from Godsgrace, Lance, Lady of Silk, and Ramshead. As near as Sansa could tell, their chief accomplishment had been surviving the battle on the river, a feat that few enough could boast. Hallyne the Pyromancer and the masters of the Alchemists' Guild received the king's thanks as well, and Hallyne was raised to the style of lord, though Sansa noted that neither lands nor castle accompanied the title, which made the alchemist no more a true lord than Varys was. A more significant lordship by far was granted to Ser Lancel Lannister. Joffrey awarded him the lands, castle, and rights of House Darry, whose last child lord had perished during the fighting in the riverlands, "leaving no trueborn heirs of lawful Darry blood, but only a bastard cousin."_

_Ser Lancel did not appear to accept the title; the talk was, his wound might cost him his arm or even his life. The Imp was said to be dying as well, from a terrible cut to the head._

_When the herald called, "Lord Petyr Baelish," he came forth dressed all in shades of rose and plum, his cloak patterned with mockingbirds. She could see him smiling as he knelt before the Iron Throne. He looks so pleased. Sansa had not heard of Littlefinger doing anything especially heroic during the battle, but it seemed he was to be rewarded all the same._

_Ser Kevan got back to his feet. "It is the wish of the King's Grace that his loyal councillor Petyr Baelish be rewarded for faithful service to crown and realm. Be it known that Lord Baelish is granted the castle of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, there to make his seat and rule henceforth as Lord Paramount of the Trident. Petyr Baelish and his sons and grandsons shall hold and enjoy these honors until the end of time, and all the lords of the Trident shall do him homage as their rightful liege. The King's Hand and the small council consent."_

_On his knees, Littlefinger raised his eyes to King Joffrey. "I thank you humbly, Your Grace. I suppose this means I'll need to see about getting some sons and grandsons."_

_Joffrey laughed, and the court with him. Lord Paramount of the Trident, Sansa thought, and Lord of Harrenhal as well. She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. Robb has beaten them every time. He'll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must._

_More than six hundred new knights were made that day. They had held their vigil in the Great Sept of Baelor all through the night and crossed the city barefoot that morning to prove their humble hearts. Now they came forward dressed in shifts of undyed wool to receive their knighthoods from the Kingsguard. It took a long time, since only three of the Brothers of the White Sword were on hand to dub them. Mandon Moore had perished in the battle, the Hound had vanished, Aerys Oakheart was in Dorne with Princess Myrcella, and Jaime Lannister was Robb's captive, so the Kingsguard had been reduced to Balon Swann, Meryn Trant, and Osmund Kettleblack. Once knighted, each man rose, buckled on his swordbelt, and stood beneath the windows. Some had bloody feet from their walk through the city, but they stood tall and proud all the same, it seemed to Sansa._

_By the time all the new knights had been given their sers the hall was growing restive, and none more so than Joffrey. Some of those in the gallery had begun to slip quietly away, but the notables on the floor were trapped, unable to depart without the king's leave. Judging by the way he was fidgeting atop the Iron Throne, Joff would willingly have granted it, but the day's work was far from done. For now the coin was turned over, and the captives were ushered in._

_There were great lords and noble knights in that company too: sour old Lord Celtigar, the Red Crab; Ser Bonifer the Good; Lord Estermont, more ancient even than Celtigar; Lord Varner, who hobbled the length of the hall on a shattered knee, but would accept no help; Ser Mark Mullendore, grey-faced, his left arm gone to the elbow; fierce Red Ronnet of Griffin Roost; Ser Dermot of the Rainwood; Lord Willurn and his sons Josua and Elyas; Ser Jon Fossoway; Ser Timon the Scrapesword; Aurane, the bastard of Driftmark; Lord Staedmon, called Pennylover; hundreds of others._

_Those who had changed their allegiance during the battle needed only to swear fealty to Joffrey, but the ones who had fought for Stannis until the bitter end were compelled to speak. Their words decided their fate. If they begged forgiveness for their treasons and promised to serve loyally henceforth, Joffrey welcomed them back into the king's peace and restored them to all their lands and rights. A handful remained defiant, however. "Do not imagine this is done, boy," warned one, the bastard son of some Florent or other. "The Lord of Light protects King Stannis, now and always. All your swords and all your scheming shall not save you when his hour comes."_

_"Your hour is come right now." Joffrey beckoned to Ser Ilyn Payne to take the man out and strike his head off. But no sooner had that one been dragged away than a knight of solemn mien with a fiery heart on his surcoat shouted out, "Stannis is the true king! A monster sits the Iron Throne, an abomination born of incest!"_

_"Be silent," Ser Kevan Lannister bellowed._

_The knight raised his voice instead. "Joffrey is the black worm eating the heart of the realm! Darkness was his father, and death his mother! Destroy him before he corrupts you all! Destroy them all, queen whore and king worm, vile dwarf and whispering spider, the false flowers. Save yourselves!" One of the gold cloaks knocked the man off his feet, but he continued to shout. "The scouring fire will come! King Stannis will return! "_

_Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture . . . and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it. "Mother!" he wailed._

_With every eye on the king, somehow the man on the floor wrested a spear away from one of the gold cloaks, and used it to push himself back to his feet. "The throne denies him!" he cried. "He is no king!"_

_Cersei was running toward the throne, but Lord Tywin remained still as stone. He had only to raise a finger, and Ser Meryn Trant moved forward with drawn sword. The end was quick and brutal. The gold cloaks seized the knight by the arms. "No king!" he cried again as Ser Meryn drove the point of his longsword through his chest._

_Joff fell into his mother's arms. Three maesters came hurrying forward, to bundle him out through the king's door. Then everyone began talking at once. When the gold cloaks dragged off the dead man, he left a trail of bright blood across the stone floor. Lord Baelish stroked his beard while Varys whispered in his ear. Will they dismiss us now? Sansa wondered. A score of captives still waited, though whether to pledge fealty or shout curses, who could say?_

_Lord Tywin rose to his feet. "We continue," he said in a clear strong voice that silenced the murmurs. "Those who wish to ask pardon for their treasons may do so. We will have no more follies." He moved to the Iron Throne and there seated himself on a step, a mere three feet off the floor._

_The light outside the windows was fading by the time the session drew to a close. Sansa felt limp with exhaustion as she made her way down from the gallery. She wondered how badly Joffrey had cut himself. They say the Iron Throne can be perilous cruel to those who were not meant to sit it._

_Back in the safety of her own chambers, she hugged a pillow to her face to muffle a squeal of joy. Oh, gods be good, he did it, he put me aside in front of everyone. When a serving girl brought her supper, she almost kissed her. There was hot bread and fresh-churned butter, a thick beef soup, capon and carrots, and peaches in honey. Even the food tastes sweeter, she thought._

_Come dark, she slipped into a cloak and left for the godswood. Ser Osmund Kettleblack was guarding the drawbridge in his white armor. Sansa tried her best to sound miserable as she bid him a good evening. From the way he leered at her, she was not sure she had been wholly convincing._

_Dontos waited in the leafy moonlight. "Why so sadface?" Sansa asked him gaily. "You were there, you heard. Joff put me aside, he's done with me, he's . . . "_

_He took her hand. "Oh, Jonquil, my poor Jonquil, you do not understand. Done with you? They've scarcely begun."_

_Her heart sank. "What do you mean?"_

_"The queen will never let you go, never. You are too valuable a hostage. And Joffrey . . . sweetling, he is still king. If he wants you in his bed, he will have you, only now it will be bastards he plants in your womb instead of trueborn sons."_

_"No," Sansa said, shocked. "He let me go, he . . . "_

_Ser Dontos planted a slobbery kiss on her ear. "Be brave. I swore to see you home, and now I can. The day has been chosen."_

_"When?" Sansa asked. "When will we go?"_

_"The night of Joffrey's wedding. After the feast. All the necessary arrangements have been made. The Red Keep will be full of strangers. Half the court will be drunk and the other half will be helping Joffrey bed his bride. For a little while, you will be forgotten, and the confusion will be our friend."_

_"The wedding won't be for a moon's turn yet. Margaery Tyrell is at Highgarden, they've only now sent for her."_

_"You've waited so long, be patient awhile longer. Here, I have something for you." Ser Dontos fumbled in his pouch and drew out a silvery spiderweb, dangling it between his thick fingers. It was a hair net of fine-spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. "What stones are these?"_

_"Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight."_

_"It's very lovely," Sansa said, thinking, It is a ship I need, not a net for my hair._

_"Lovelier than you know, sweet child. It's magic, you see. It's justice you hold. It's vengeance for your father." Dontos leaned close and kissed her again. "It's home."_

Since then many things had happened to Sansa. She had met with Lady Margaery and her grandmother Lady Olenna, otherwise known as the Queen of Thorns. She had spoken with them and had told them of how horrid Joffrey truly was after much coaxing from both Tyrells. Once she had finished speaking she had been terrified that the Tyrells would call the wedding off, and then she would actually have to marry Joffrey as she had feared she would have had to had the Tyrells not come and saved the day, but Lady Margaery had laughed when Sansa had voiced this concern and said that Sansa need not be worried about the wedding stopping. In fact since that conversation the Tyrells had been doing everything they could to make her feel welcome and a part of their social circle, and when Margaery had told Sansa that they were thinking of taking her with them for a visit to Highgarden to meet her older brother Willas, Sansa had been giddy with excitement, any chance to leave King’s Landing would be well welcomed especially now that Joffrey’s attentions were no longer focused on her.

Margaery had told her not to tell anyone about these plans, and so she had not said a word to anyone, apart from Ser Dontos, and her Florian had become so panicked when she had told him she had wondered why but all he would tell her was that she should not trust the Tyrells, for all they wanted from her according to him was her “claim”. She did not believe him, but then a few days before they were meant to leave for Highgarden, she was brought to the Great Sept of Baelor and wedded to Tyrion Lannister the Imp.

She had been so upset then; her dreams of ever escaping King’s Landing seemed to be fading away into nothingness right before her eyes. Margaery had looked on at her with something akin to pity, the rest of the Tyrells had not even deigned to speak with her, treating her as if she did not even exist. She felt horrible, she felt wretched and she was terrified that eventually her husband would try and claim her maidenhead. The only good thing that came of being married to Tyrion was that he was reasonably nice to her and that he had prevented Joffrey from beating her since that day in court many moons ago.

A few days after their marriage, she and her husband were sitting down for dinner, when Tyrion spoke. “I don’t know if you are aware my lady, but Prince Doran and some of his retainers will be coming to King’s Landing so that the prince may take up his seat on the small council.”

Sansa merely nodded. Her husband sighed and went on. “I believe that you have a cousin from Dorne do you not? A lady Jeyne?”

Sansa nodded once more. She had not seen Jeyne since they had made the journey together from Winterfell, her cousin had been very ill for most of the trip, and looking back she realised that she and her obsession with Joffrey had likely not made things easier for her cousin nor for her aunt Ashara.

Tyrion was looking at her with his mismatched eyes as if he could read her thoughts. “I thought you would like to know that she and her mother will be coming to court as well with the Prince.

Sansa said nothing, but inside she was smiling, it had been so long since she had seen any family perhaps she could make amends with her cousin?

The day when her cousin and the Dornish retinue arrived, the Red Keep was humming with activity, everything had to be ready and perfect, and it was essential Sansa knew that no Dornishmen sat next to a Reachmen due to their centuries old feud. She was there in the courtyard of the Red Keep when the Dornish party were led through, and she saw her cousin from a mile away, with her pale blond hair and violet eyes, her cousin looked well. When Jeyne and her mother Ashara reached her they stopped for a mere moment to embrace her and Sansa could have sworn she heard her cousin whisper in her ear. “We’ll take you away from here Sansa. I promise, for Winter will come for the Lannisters and we do not bend.”

 

* * *

 

**Catelyn**

Memories still haunted her, like a plague, they haunted her and would not let her go. She wondered if this was what it was like to go mad, with grief.

_Two days ride from Riverrun, a scout spied them watering their horses beside a muddy steam. Catelyn had never been so glad to see the twin tower badge of House Frey._

_When she asked him to lead them to her uncle, he said, "The Blackfish is gone west with the king, my lady. Martyn Rivers commands the outriders in his stead."_

_"I see." She had met Rivers at the Twins; a baseborn son of Lord Walder Frey, half brother to Ser Perwyn. It did not surprise her to learn that Robb had struck at the heart of Lannister power; clearly he had been contemplating just that when he sent her away to treat with Renly. "Where is Rivers now?"_

_"His camp is two hours ride, my lady."_

_"Take us to him," she commanded. Brienne helped her back into her saddle, and they set out at once._

_"Have you come from Bitterbridge, my lady?" the scout asked._

_"No." She had not dared. With Renly dead, Catelyn had been uncertain of the reception she might receive from his young widow and her protectors. Instead she had ridden through the heart of the war, through fertile riverlands turned to blackened desert by the fury of the Lannisters, and each night her scouts brought back tales that made her ill. "Lord Renly is slain," she added._

_"We'd hoped that tale was some Lannister lie, or—"_

_"Would that it were. My brother commands in Riverrun?"_

_"Yes, my lady. His Grace left Ser Edmure to hold Riverrun and guard his rear."_

_Gods grant him the strength to do so, Catelyn thought. And the wisdom as well. "Is there word from Robb in the west?"_

_"You have not heard?" The man seemed surprised. "His Grace won a great victory at Oxcross. Ser Stafford Lannister is dead, his host scattered."_

_Ser Wendel Manderly gave a whoop of pleasure, but Catelyn only nodded. Tomorrow's trials concerned her more than yesterday's triumphs._

_Martyn Rivers had made his camp in the shell of a shattered holdfast, beside a roofless stable and a hundred fresh graves. He went to one knee when Catelyn dismounted. "Well met, my lady. Your brother charged us to keep an eye out for your party, and escort you back to Riverrun in all haste should we come upon you."_

_Catelyn scarce liked the sound of that. "Is it my father?"_

_"No, my lady. Lord Hoster is unchanged." Rivers was a ruddy man with scant resemblance to his half brothers. "It is only that we feared you might chance upon Lannister scouts. Lord Tywin has left Harrenhal and marches west with all his power."_

_"Rise," she told Rivers, frowning. Stannis Baratheon would soon be on the march as well, gods help them all. "How long until Lord Tywin is upon us?"_

_"Three days, perhaps four, it is hard to know. We have eyes out along all the roads, but it would be best not to linger."_

_Nor did they. Rivers broke his camp quickly and saddled up beside her, and they set off again, near fifty strong now, flying beneath the direwolf, the leaping trout, the twin towers._

_Her men wanted to hear more of Robb's victory at Oxcross, and Rivers obliged. "There's a singer come to Riverrun, calls himself Rymund the Rhymer, he's made a song of the fight. Doubtless you'll hear it sung tonight, my lady. ‘Wolf in the Night' this Rymund calls it." He went on to tell how the remnants of Ser Stafford's host had fallen back on Lannisport. Without siege engines there was no way to storm Casterly Rock, so the Young Wolf was paying the Lannisters back in kind for the devastation they'd inflicted on the riverlands. Lords Karstark and Glover were raiding along the coast, Lady Mormont had captured thousands of cattle and was driving them back toward Riverrun, while the Greatjon had seized the gold mines at Castamere, Nunn's Deep, and the Pendric Hills. Ser Wendel laughed. "Nothing's more like to bring a Lannister running than a threat to his gold."_

_"How did the king ever take the Tooth?" Ser Perwyn Frey asked his bastard brother. "That's a hard strong keep, and it commands the hill road."_

_"He never took it. He slipped around it in the night. It's said the direwolf showed him the way, that Grey Wind of his. The beast sniffed out a goat track that wound down a defile and up along beneath a ridge, a crooked and stony way, yet wide enough for men riding single file. The Lannisters in their watchtowers got not so much a glimpse of them." Rivers lowered his voice. "There's some say that after the battle, the king cut out Stafford Lannister's heart and fed it to the wolf."_

_"I would not believe such tales," Catelyn said sharply. "My son is no savage."_

_"As you say, my lady. Still, it's no more than the beast deserved. That is no common wolf, that one. The Greatjon's been heard to say that the old gods of the north sent those direwolves to your children."_

_Catelyn remembered the day when her boys had found the pups in the late summer snows. There had been five, three male and two female for the five trueborn children of House Stark . . . and a sixth, white of fur and red of eye, for Ned's bastard son Jon Snow. No common wolves, she thought. No indeed._

_That night as they made their camp, Brienne sought out her tent. "My lady, you are safely back among your own now, a day's ride from your brother's castle. Give me leave to go."_

_Catelyn should not have been surprised. The homely young woman had kept to herself all through their journey, spending most of her time with the horses, brushing out their coats and pulling stones from their shoes. She had helped Shadd cook and clean game as well, and soon proved that she could hunt as well as any. Any task Catelyn asked her to turn her hand to, Brienne had performed deftly and without complaint, and when she was spoken to she answered politely, but she never chattered, nor wept, nor laughed. She had ridden with them every day and slept among them every night without ever truly becoming one of them._

_It was the same when she was with Renly, Catelyn thought. At the feast, in the melee, even in Renly's pavilion with her brothers of the Rainbow Guard. There are walls around this one higher than Winterfell's._

_"If you left us, where would you go?" Catelyn asked her._

_"Back," Brienne said. "To Storm's End."_

_"Alone." It was not a question._

_The broad face was a pool of still water, giving no hint of what might live in the depths below. "Yes."_

_"You mean to kill Stannis."_

_Brienne closed her thick callused fingers around the hilt of her sword._

_The sword that had been his. "I swore a vow. Three times I swore. You heard me."_

_"I did," Catelyn admitted. The girl had kept the rainbow cloak when she discarded the rest of her bloodstained clothing, she knew. Brienne's own things had been left behind during their flight, and she had been forced to clothe herself in odd bits of Ser Wendel's spare garb, since no one else in their party had garments large enough to fit her. "Vows should be kept, I agree, but Stannis has a great host around him, and his own guards sworn to keep him safe."_

_"I am not afraid of his guards. I am as good as any of them. I should never have fled."_

_"Is that what troubles you, that some fool might call you craven?" She sighed. "Renly's death was no fault of youts. You served him valiantly, but when you seek to follow him into the earth, you serve no one." She stretched out a hand, to give what comfort a touch could give. "I know how hard it is—"_

_Brienne shook off her hand. "No one knows."_

_"You're wrong," Catelyn said sharply. "Every morning, when I wake, I remember that Ned is gone. I have no skill with swords, but that does not mean that I do not dream of riding to King's Landing and wrapping my hands around Cersei Lannister's white throat and squeezing until her face turns black."_

_The Beauty raised her eyes, the only part of her that was truly beautiful. "If you dream that, why would you seek to hold me back? Is it because of what Stannis said at the parley?"_

_Was it? Catelyn glanced across the camp. Two men were walking sentry, spears in hand. "I was taught that good men must fight evil in this world, and Renly's death was evil beyond all doubt. Yet I was also taught that the gods make kings, not the swords of men. If Stannis is our rightful king—"_

_"He's not. Robert was never the rightful king either, even Renly said as much. Jaime Lannister murdered the rightful king, after Robert killed his lawful heir on the Trident. Where were the gods then? The gods don't care about men, no more than kings care about peasants."_

_"A good king does care."_

_"Lord Renly . . . His Grace, he . . . he would have been the best king, my lady, he was so good, he . . . "_

_"He is gone, Brienne," she said, as gently as she could. "Stannis and Joffrey remain . . . and so does my son."_

_"He wouldn't . . . you'd never make a peace with Stannis, would you? Bend the knee? You wouldn't . . . "_

_"I will tell you true, Brienne. I do not know. My son may be a king, but I am no queen . . . only a mother who would keep her children safe, however she could."_

_"I am not made to be a mother. I need to fight."_

_"Then fight . . . but for the living, not the dead. Renly's enemies are Robb's enemies as well."_

_Brienne stared at the ground and shuffled her feet. "I do not know your son, my lady." She looked up. "I could serve you. If you would have me."_

_Catelyn was startled. "Why me?"_

_The question seemed to trouble Brienne. "You helped me. In the pavilion . . . when they thought that I had . . . that I had . . . "_

_"You were innocent."_

_"Even so, you did not have to do that. You could have let them kill me. I was nothing to you."_

_Perhaps I did not want to be the only one who knew the dark truth of what had happened there, Catelyn thought. "Brienne, I have taken many wellborn ladies into my service over the years, but never one like you. I am no battle commander."_

_"No, but you have courage. Not battle courage perhaps but . . . I don't know . . . a kind of woman's courage. And I think, when the time comes, you will not try and hold me back. Promise me that. That you will not hold me back from Stannis."_

_Catelyn could still hear Stannis saying that Robb's turn too would come in time. It was like a cold breath on the back of her neck. "When the time comes, I will not hold you back."_

_The tall girl knelt awkwardly, unsheathed Renly's longsword, and laid it at her feet. "Then I am yours, my lady. Your liege man, or . . . whatever you would have me be. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."_

_"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise." As she clasped the other woman's hands between her own, Catelyn could not help but smile. How many times did I watch Ned accept a man's oath of service? She wondered what he would think if he could see her now._

_They forded the Red Fork late the next day, upstream of Riverrun where the river made a wide loop and the waters grew muddy and shallow. The crossing was guarded by a mixed force of archers and pikemen wearing the eagle badge of the Mallisters. When they saw Catelyn's banners, they emerged from behind their sharpened stakes and sent a man over from the far bank to lead her party across. "Slow and careful like, milady," he warned as he took the bridle of her horse. "We've planted iron spikes under the water, y'see, and there's caltrops scattered among them rocks there. It's the same on all the fords, by your brother's command."_

_Edmure thinks to fight here. The realization gave her a queasy feeling in the bowels, but she held her tongue._

_Between the Red Fork and the Tumblestone, they joined a stream of smallfolk making for the safety of Riverrun. Some were driving animals before them, others pulling wayns, but they made way as Catelyn rode past, and cheered her with cries of "Tully!" or "Stark!" Half a mile from the castle, she passed through a large encampment where the scarlet banner of the Blackwoods waved above the lord's tent. Lucas took his leave of her there, to seek out his father, Lord Tytos. The rest rode on._

_Catelyn spied a second camp strung out along the bank north of the Tumblestone, familiar standards flapping in the wind—Marq Piper's dancing maiden, Darry's plowman, the twining red-and-white snakes of the Paeges. They were all her father's bannermen, lords of the Trident. Most had left Riverrun before she had, to defend their own lands. If they were here again, it could only mean that Edmure had called them back. Gods save us, it's true, he means to offer battle to Lord Tywin._

_Something dark was dangling against the walls of Riverrun, Catelyn saw from a distance. When she rode close, she saw dead men hanging from the battlements, slumped at the ends of long ropes with hempen nooses tight around their necks, their faces swollen and black. The crows had been at them, but their crimson cloaks still showed bright against the sandstone walls._

_"They have hanged some Lannisters," Hal Mollen observed._

_"A pretty sight," Ser Wendel Manderly said cheerfully._

_"Our friends have begun without us," Perwyn Frey jested. The others laughed, all but Brienne, who gazed up at the row of bodies unblinking, and neither spoke nor smiled._

_If they have slain the Kingslayer, then my daughters are dead as well. Catelyn spurred her horse to a canter. Hal Mollen and Robin Flint raced past at a gallop, halooing to the gatehouse. The guards on the walls had doubtless spied her banners some time ago, for the portcullis was up as they approached._

_Edmure rode out from the castle to meet her, surrounded by three of her father's sworn men—great-bellied Ser Desmond Grell the master-at-arms, Utherydes Wayn the steward, and Ser Robin Ryger, Riverrun's big bald captain of guards. They were all three of an age with Lord Hoster, men who had spent their lives in her father's service. Old men, Catelyn realized._

_Edmure wore a blue-and-red cloak over a tunic embroidered with silver fish. From the look of him, he had not shaved since she rode south; his beard was a fiery bush. "Cat, it is good to have you safely back. When we heard of Renly's death, we feared for your life. And Lord Tywin is on the march as well."_

_"So I am told. How fares our father?"_

_"One day he seems stronger, the next . . . " He shook his head. "He's asked for you. I did not know what to tell him."_

_"I will go to him soon," she vowed. "Has there been word from Storm's End since Renly died? Or from Bitterbridge?" No ravens came to men on the road, and Catelyn was anxious to know what had happened behind her._

_"Nothing from Bitterbridge. From Storm's End, three birds from the castellan, Ser Cortnay Penrose, all carrying the same plea. Stannis has him surrounded by land and sea. He offers his allegiance to whatsoever king will break the siege. He fears for the boy, he says. What boy would that be, do you know?"_

_"Edric Storm," Brienne told them. "Robert's bastard son."_

_Edmure looked at her curiously. "Stannis has sworn that the garrison might go free, unharmed, provided they yield the castle within the fortnight and deliver the boy into his hands, but Ser Cortnay will not consent."_

_He risks all for a baseborn boy whose blood is not even his own, Catelyn thought. "Did you send him an answer?"_

_Edmure shook his head. "Why, when we have neither help nor hope to offer? And Stannis is no enemy of ours."_

_Ser Robin Ryger spoke. "My lady, can you tell us the manner of Lord Renly's death? The tales we've heard have been queer."_

_"Cat," her brother said, "some say you killed Renly. Others claim it was some southron woman." His glance lingered on Brienne._

_"My king was murdered," the girl said quietly, "and not by Lady Catelyn. I swear it on my sword, by the gods old and new."_

_"This is Brienne of Tarth, the daughter of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, who served in Renly's Rainbow Guard," Catelyn told them. "Brienne, I am honored to acquaint you with my brother Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun. His steward Utherydes Wayn. Ser Robin Ryger and Ser Desmond Grell."_

_"Honored," said Ser Desmond. The others echoed him. The girl flushed, embarrassed even at this commonplace courtesy. If Edmure thought her a curious sort of lady, at least he had the grace not to say so._

_"Brienne was with Renly when he was killed, as was I," said Catelyn, "but we had no part in his death." She did not care to speak of the shadow, here in the open with men all around, so she waved a hand at the bodies. "Who are these men you've hanged?"_

_Edmure glanced up uncomfortably. "They came with Ser Cleos when he brought the queen's answer to our peace offer."_

_Catelyn was shocked. "You've killed envoys?"_

_"False envoys," Edmure declared. "They pledged me their peace and surrendered their weapons, so I allowed them freedom of the castle, and for three nights they ate my meat and drank my mead whilst I talked with Ser Cleos. On the fourth night, they tried to free the Kingslayer." He pointed up. "That big brute killed two guards with naught but those ham hands of his, caught them by the throats and smashed their skulls together while that skinny lad beside him was opening Lannister's cell with a bit of wire, gods curse him. The one on the end was some sort of damned mummer. He used my own voice to command that the River Gate be opened. The guardsmen swear to it, Enger and Delp and Long Lew, all three. If you ask me, the man sounded nothing like me, and yet the oafs were raising the portcullis all the same."_

_This was the Imp's work, Catelyn suspected; it stank of the same sort of cunning he had displayed at the Eyrie. Once, she would have named Tyrion the least dangerous of the Lannisters. Now she was not so certain. "How is it you caught them?"_

_"Ah, as it happened, I was not in the castle. I'd crossed the Tumblestone to, ah . . . "_

_"You were whoring or wenching. Get on with the tale."_

_Edmure's cheeks flamed as red as his beard. "It was the hour before dawn, and I was only then returning. When Long Lew saw my boat and recognized me, he finally thought to wonder who was standing below barking commands, and raised a cry."_

_"Tell me the Kingslayer was retaken."_

_"Yes, though not easily. Jaime got hold of a sword, slew Poul Pernford and Ser Desmond's squire Myles, and wounded Delp so badly that Maester Vyman fears he'll soon die as well. It was a bloody mess. At the sound of steel, some of the other red cloaks rushed to join him, barehand or no. I hanged those beside the four who freed him, and threw the rest in the dungeons. Jaime too. We'll have no more escapes from that one. He's down in the dark this time, chained hand and foot and bolted to the wall."_

_"And Cleos Frey?"_

_"He swears he knew naught of the plot. Who can say? The man is half Lannister, half Frey, and all liar. I put him in Jaime's old tower cell."_

_"You say he brought terms?"_

_"If you can call them that. You'll like them no more than I did, I promise."_

_"Can we hope for no help from the south, Lady Stark?" asked Utherydes Wayn, her father's steward. "This charge of incest . . . Lord Tywin does not suffer such slights lightly. He will seek to wash the stain from his daughter's name with the blood of her accuser, Lord Stannis must see that. He has no choice but to make common cause with us."_

_Stannis has made common cause with a power greater and darker. "Let us speak of these matters later." Catelyn trotted over the drawbridge, putting the grisly row of dead Lannisters behind her. Her brother kept pace. As they rode out into the bustle of Riverrun's upper bailey, a naked toddler ran in front of the horses. Catelyn jerked her reins hard to avoid him, glancing about in dismay. Hundreds of smallfolk had been admitted to the castle, and allowed to erect crude shelters against the walls. Their children were everywhere underfoot, and the yard teemed with their cows, sheep, and chickens. "Who are all these folk?"_

_"My people," Edmure answered. "They were afraid."_

_Only my sweet brother would crowd all these useless mouths into a castle that might soon be under siege. Catelyn knew that Edmure had a soft heart; sometimes she thought his head was even softer. She loved him for it, yet still . . ._

_"Can Robb be reached by raven?"_

_"He's in the field, my lady," Ser Desmond replied. "The bird would have no way to find him."_

_Edmure swung down from his saddle. He was a head taller than she was, but he would always be her little brother. "Cat," he said unhappily, "Lord Tywin is coming—"_

_"He is making for the west, to defend his own lands. If we close our gates and shelter behind the walls, we can watch him pass with safety."_

_"This is Tully land," Edmure declared. "If Tywin Lannister thinks to cross it unbloodied, I mean to teach him a hard lesson."_

_The same lesson you taught his son? Her brother could be stubborn as river rock when his pride was touched, but neither of them was likely to forget how Ser Jaime had cut Edmure's host to bloody pieces the last time he had offered battle. "We have nothing to gain and everything to lose by meeting Lord Tywin in the field," Catelyn said tactfully._

_"The yard is not the place to discuss my battle plans."_

_"As you will. Where shall we go?"_

_Her brother's face darkened. For a moment she thought he was about to lose his temper with her, but finally he snapped, "The godswood. If you will insist."_

_She followed him along a gallery to the godswood gate. Edmure's anger had always been a sulky, sullen thing. Catelyn was sorry she had wounded him, but the matter was too important for her to concern herself with his pride. When they were alone beneath the trees, Edmure turned to face her._

_"You do not have the strength to meet the Lannisters in the field," she said bluntly._

_"When all my strength is marshalled, I should have eight thousand foot and three thousand horse," Edmure said._

_"Which means Lord Tywin will have near twice your numbers."_

_"Robb's won his battles against worse odds," Edmure replied, "and I have a plan. You've forgotten Roose Bolton. Lord Tywin defeated him on the Green Fork, but failed to pursue. When Lord Tywin went to Harrenhal, Bolton took the ruby ford and the crossroads. He has ten thousand men. I've sent word to Helman Tallhart to join him with the garrison Robb left at the Twins—"_

_"Edmure, Robb left those men to hold the Twins and make certain Lord Walder keeps faith with us."_

_"He has," Edmure said stubbornly. "The Freys fought bravely in the Whispering Wood, and old Ser Stevron died at Oxcross, we hear. Ser Ryman and Black Walder and the rest are with Robb in the west, Martyn has been of great service scouting, and Ser Perwyn helped see you safe to Renly. Gods be good, how much more can we ask of them? Your boy Bran and Your daughter Arya are betrothed to his offspring Roose Bolton wed to a daughter, I hear. And haven't you taken two of his grandsons to be fostered at Winterfell?"_

_"A ward can easily become a hostage, if need be." She had not known that Ser Stevron was dead, nor of Bolton's marriage._

_"If we're two hostages to the good, all the more reason Lord Walder dare not play us false. Bolton needs Frey's men, and Ser Helman's as well. I've commanded him to retake Harrenhal."_

_"That's like to be a bloody business."_

_"Yes, but once the castle falls, Lord Tywin will have no safe retreat. My own levies will defend the fords of Red Fork against his crossing. If he attacks across the river, he'll end as Rhaegar did when he tried to cross the Trident. If he holds back, he'll be caught between Riverrun and Harrenhal, and when Robb returns from the west we can finish him for good and all."_

_Her brother's voice was full of brusque confidence, but Catelyn found herself wishing that Robb had not taken her uncle Brynden west with him. The Blackfish was the veteran of half a hundred battles; Edmure was the veteran of one, and that one lost._

_"The plan's a good one," he concluded. "Lord Tytos says so, and Lord Jonos as well. When did Blackwood and Bracken agree about anything that was not certain, I ask you?"_

_"Be that as it may." She was suddenly weary. Perhaps she was wrong to oppose him. Perhaps it was a splendid plan, and her misgivings only a woman's fears. She wished Ned were here, or her uncle Brynden, or . . . "Have you asked Father about this?"_

_"Father is in no state to weigh strategies. Two days ago he was making plans for your marriage to Brandon Stark! Go see him yourself if you do not believe me. This plan will work, Cat, you'll see."_

_"I hope so, Edmure. I truly do." She kissed him on the cheek, to let him know she meant it, and went to find her father._

That battle had ended with a discovery of a ruse. Edmure’s host had smashed the Lannister host at the Red Fork, only to discover that it was not Tywin Lannister leading it but one Ser Armory Loch. One of the men they had taken prisoner confessed all for fear of his life. He told her brother of how Lord Tywin had received word whilst still in Harrenhal of Stannis’s sail from Dragonstone, and how a Tyrell host was camped south of the Kingswood, he took his men and marched from Harrenhal and at Tumbleton was met by Ser Garlan Tyrell and Randyll Tarly. Before he left though Lord Tywin sent 1,000 men with Armory Loch and had they march west, hoping to draw Edmure out, the plan had succeeded and Armory Loch and his men were dead. Tywin Lannister and the Tyrells had taken Stannis Baratheon in the rear at King’s Landing and saved the day.

But before she had learnt of this, word had come from the north on dark wings. The Ironborn had invaded and had captured Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin, and most painfully of all Theon Greyjoy had captured Winterfell, had had it put to the torch and killed Bran and Rickon. Catelyn’s heart already broken from Ned’s death, shattered when she read the letter. She would have cried but she had no more tears left, instead she wrote a letter to Robb informing him of Theon’s betrayal, and in a cold moment of clarity walked down to the dungeons and freed the Kingslayer, hoping against hope that the return of the man would be enough to allow Sansa and Arya to come back home to her.

Edmure had been furious when he had found out what she had done, and had sent riders out looking for the man, though they had either not returned or come back empty handed. Brienne had done her job well. Whilst she waited in Riverrun for her daughters to come back to her, Robb sent word from the Crag, Alys had given birth to a baby girl whom they had decided to name her Shiera. A few weeks later Robb, Alys and their daughter arrived back in Riverrun, with the northern host. With the north under attack, it was imperative that Robb march back north to reclaim it. Though her son had not been happy when he had found out what she had done, he had told her later that he understood, but of course Lord Rickard had been most wrath and had only been prevented from killing the Lannister prisoners they still had because of the efforts of his daughter Alys.

As the days turned into weeks, and there was still no sign of Brienne returning with her daughters, Catelyn began to grow increasingly melancholy, something that was only worsened with her father’s passing and the fact that Lothar Frey and Walder Rivers had been sent from the Twins by Old Walder Frey to renegotiate the marriage pact, what with her Bran dead and Arya still missing and worst case scenario dead. It was eventually decided that Edmure would marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters by the name of Rosilin, and that he would allow Robb and the northmen passage back north to fight the Ironborn.

There was just the small matter of Robb’s will to be dealt with, and two days before they were due to head off for the Twins, after seeing Lothar Frey and Walder Rivers away, Robb gathered his remaining lords and herself and Alys into her father’s- her brother’s now- solar.

He laid a envelop on the table, which had the Direwolf seal of House Stark on it. And spoke. “My lords, my lady, mother, Alys. This paper contains my will and testament. I would ask that you all fix your seals to it. Maester Vyman, Ser Brynden, I ask that you bear witness to what is done now.” And so all the remaining northern lords and riverlords placed their respective seals on the paper. Then Robb spoke again. “Lord Mallister, I will require two of your fastest ships. Lord Glover, Lady Maege you shall be travelling on these ships, carrying false documents to present to anyone not of the north should you be captured. I would wish for you to locate Greywater Watch and ask the assistance of the Cranongmen in regaining Moat Cailin.”

Catelyn saw Lord Glover and Lady Mormont nod their heads. Robb went on. “I will give you fifty men each to help man the ship and defend it. You shall go with Lord Mallister to Seagard and then sail through the marshes. With Balon Greyjoy dead, his brother and daughter will sail back to the Iron Islands to contest the crown. We shall take advantage of that. Would that Robett and Ser Hellman had not marched on Duskendale, we would have had more men. Alas, it does no good to speak of what ifs and maybes. That is all thanking you my lords,” as the lords began to file out Robb spoke once more. “Lord Rickard, Uncle Edmure, Lord Umber, Ser Brynden Maester Vyman if you could remain behind please.”

Catelyn was curious as to what her son could be planning now, though he noticed that neither Alys nor Lord Glover or Lady Mormont seemed particularly surprised. Once the remaining lords had left and it was just those Robb had requested to stay behind present her son spoke once more. “With Bran and Rickon dead, Arya missing and Sansa married to the Imp, should I die before myself and Alys can have a son, Winterfell and the North would pass to my daughter. But this is the Lannisters we speak of, so I highly doubt they would allow that to happen. Winterfell cannot fall into Lannister hands, I will not allow it. In the will I have stated quite clearly that my cousin Jon Sand is my heir and shall become Lord of Winterfell should I die without a son. Lord Karstark, I would ask that should anything happen to me, you take Alys to the Wall and see to it that Jon knows of what I wish, he will protect her and Shiera. I will also give you a copy of the will Lord Karstark and Ser Brynden. I do not trust some of these Lords, and I do not truly believe that Robett Glover or Hellman Tallhart would be so foolish as to march on Duskendale.”

Lord Rickard and the Blackfish both nodded. “It will be done your grace.”

Her son gave a weary smile then. “Good now leave me, I have a daughter I wish to see.”

The lords filled out, and her son sagged down onto a chair, looking for all the word like his father had done on numerous occasions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 


	9. Wicked Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death and Destruction descend as Winter Comes

**Robb**

He was winning battles but losing the war. The Westerlands were plundered, and yet the North had fallen. Casterly Rock had no hope of defending itself, and yet he had marched east not further west. Winterfell had fallen and Casterly Rock remained standing. His brothers were slain by his best friend, and his mother had freed the Kingslayer. Robett Glover and Ser Hellman Tallhart had marched south and had been broken by Randyll Tarly’s host at Duskendale, Robett had been a prisoner of war but Robb had traded Willem and Martyn Lannister for the man, and they had received word that Robett had boarded a ship bound for White Harbour. His campaign was falling around him, with Winterfell fallen and Ironborn in Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte, and the Lannisters and Tyrells having a secure holding of King’s Landing, he knew he was trapped. March north and the Riverlands would bleed, march north and his northmen would not wish to leave their lands undefended. Remain in the Riverlands and the North would continue to bleed. He knew as King in the North, that by proxy he had to march back north, he had to reclaim the north and hope and pray that the Lannisters left the Riverlands alone, though he highly doubted that they would.

The only bright spots in an otherwise gloomy few weeks for Robb had been the birth of his and Alys’s daughter Shiera. Shiera had Alys’s long face and brown hair, but she had his Tully blue eyes. She was the light in the darkness, her smiles, her gurgles they were what kept Robb going through the dark times, they had even been enough to convince Lord Rickard not to kill the Lannister prisoners they still had when they had come back to Riverrun. Before they had left the Crag though, the Westerlings had become part of  the Kingdom of the North, Lady Jeyne Westerling having married the Smalljon, much to her mother’s apparent disdain but to the Greatjon’s joy. With them they brought fifty men, a few of them knights. Riverrun was filled with gloom and despair when Robb and the northmen had arrived back.  His uncle Edmure had destroyed the Lannister host that had thought to march west, but it had not been Tywin Lannister leading them, no it had been a small host led by Ser Armory Loch, and used as a distraction as Lord Lannister joined the rest of his strength with that of the Tyrells and destroyed Stannis Baratheon on the Blackwater.

His mother was a shade of the woman she had been before the king had come to Winterfell all those years ago. She constantly had a haunted look in her face, a look he had seen all too often on Lord Karstark’s face whilst they had been in the Westerlands. He could not even muster any anger at her actions, for he understood them all too well, he knew she wanted Sansa and Arya back safe with them, he wanted the same thing too. Hell if something were to happen to Shiera now, he knew he would tear the earth apart looking for some way to get her back. With Bran dead, and there being no response from King’s Landing, the Freys had come knocking on Riverrun’s doors to once more claim one of Robb’s kin for a marriage. This time his uncle Edmure would be marrying one of Lord Walder’s daughters by the name of Roslin. His uncle had been petulant and had asked much later when the Freys had gone back to the Twins, as to why he could not choose his own bride. Robb had not had the patience nor the will to chastise his uncle, instead that task had fallen to his great uncle the Blackfish, who had reminded Edmure that he was the Lord of Riverrun now with Lord Hoster’s death, and it was up to him to do his duty to his family.

 

Before they had marched, Robb had written his will, which stated that in the event of his death, Alys and their daughter were to be taken to the Wall and see that Jon took care of them. He had legitimised his cousin and named him Stark, he hoped that should anything happen to him that Jon would take care of Alys and Shiera to the best of his ability and would try and make sure no harm befell them. He had trusted Theon, and Theon had betrayed that trust, but Jon was family, the blood of the Starks and the First Men flowed through his cousin’s veins, Jon was honourable to a fault and Robb knew exceptionally protective when it came to family, so he was confident that his cousin would protect Alys and Shiera. He had had his lords and lady bannermen affix their seals to the letter that contained his will, and had told Lord Karstark, his uncle Edmure and the Blackfish the true contents of the will upon finishing with the rest of his bannermen, Lord Karstark had a spare copy of the will, should anything go awry, he kept the main copy on his person though he knew to give it to Alys before they entered the Twins for Edmure’s wedding.

The Westerlings had deigned to stay in Riverrun and not venture north for the wedding, though Ser Raynald the heir to the Crag would be accompanying Robb to the Twins. Ser Gawen had been freed from his cell in Riverrun and would remain with his wife, and three younger children. Though there was something about the Westerlings that Robb was not too sure about, there was something there that he did not like, he knew Greywind felt it as well for his wolf always growled whenever one of the Westerlings accept for Ser Raynald were near. Robb had been tempted to just let Greywind have his way with them, but he knew that as King he could not do so, he would have to wait for the wedding and the Ironborn to be dealt with before he could deal with the Westerlings.

One piece of good news that they had received before arriving at the Twins was that Balon Greyjoy had died and that there was likely going to be a succession dispute in the Iron Islands with his daughter and two of his brothers both claiming the Seastone Chair.  Roose Bolton had told them that Moat Cailin had been left sparsely defended, this Robb felt would make it slightly easier to retake the Moat and the North, there were secret passageways that could allow an army south of the neck to navigate round and have easier access to the Moat or completely avoid it, but for those passageways to become available to them, you would need the alliance of the Cranongmen, something Robb was confident of having.

Their journey north to the Twins was delayed by rain and by floods. At Hag’s Mire Lord Glover, Mallister and Lady Mormont left them and made their way to their boats that would help them find Greywater Watch. At Oldstones they camped for a few days to gain some respite, and Robb spent some time with his wife and daughter. It was there that he decided that it would be safer for Alys and Shiera not to be actually in the Twins when the wedding took place. For as he told his wife, his mother and his good father. “There is something strange going on, the Westerlings submitted too easily and with Duskendale, I’m not sure what it is but I do not think all is as it seems here. Alys my love, I know you will likely argue with what I am about to say, but I do not wish for you or for Lord Karstark to enter the hall when my uncle’s wedding takes place.”

“Why?” Lord Karstark asked, though Robb knew that his wife had more than likely figured out why.

“Because Lord Walder accepted Edmure’s marriage far to easily. I would have expected that he demand something more from me. I am worried that should he see Alys and Shiera in the hall during the wedding he will demand more, or perhaps hold us hostage to his own mad sense of right and wrong. That is why I want you Lord Karstark to take fifty of your best men along with Ned Wull and Owen Norrey and Olyvar Frey and set up camp to the West of the Twins, within range but not close enough that should something go awry they’ll, take you out. Should anything look amiss to you during the night and the day, ride north, ride for Greywater Watch, should you find the Watch give them the Will, they will help you to the Wall.”

“Very Well then.” Lord Karstark said and then he got up and left.

“Do you truly believe that something could happen to you Robb?” His wife asked.

“I do not know my love. Walder Frey is a strange and peculiar man. I do not want to take any chances, nor do I want to risk you or Shiera.” He replied.

“You are right Robb, Walder Frey is a prickly man. Something is awry here.” His mother replied, with that haunted look still in her eyes. Since they had received word that Sansa had married Tyrion, it seemed that all hope of ever getting his sisters back had died up.

Three weeks after they had departed from Riverrun, they arrived at the Twins. Alys, Shiera with their guards had set up camp west of the Water Tower in the woods where noise travelled, Robb had sent Greywind off to them when it became apparent that something was awry. Greywind had lunged at one of the Freys sent to escort them into the Twins and so Robb had allowed him to be led into the woods, by Owen Norrey, saying that he would more than likely be safe there.

Then the wedding had begun. The drums were pounding, pounding, pounding, and her head with them. Pipes wailed and flutes trilled from the musicians' gallery at the foot of the hall; fiddles screeched, horns blew, the skins skirled a lively tune, but the drumming drove them all. The sounds echoed off the rafters, whilst the guests ate, drank, and shouted at one another below. Walder Frey must be deaf as a stone to call this music. Robb sipped a cup of wine and watched Jinglebell prance to the sounds of "Alysanne." At least  he thought it was meant to be "Alysanne." With these players, it might as easily have been "The Bear and the Maiden Fair."

Outside the rain still fell, but within the Twins the air was thick and hot. A fire roared in the hearth and rows of torches burned smokily from iron sconces on the walls. Yet most of the heat came off the bodies of the wedding guests, jammed in so thick along the benches that every man who tried to lift his cup poked his neighbour in the ribs.

Even on the dais they were closer than Robb would have liked. He had been placed between Ser Ryman Frey and Roose Bolton, and had gotten a good noseful of both. Ser Ryman drank as if Westeros was about to run short of wine, and sweated it all out under his arms. He had bathed in lemonwater, she judged, but no lemon could mask so much sour sweat. Roose Bolton had a sweeter smell to him, yet no more pleasant. He sipped hippocras in preference to wine or mead, and ate but little.

Robb could not fault him for his lack of appetite. The wedding feast began with a thin leek soup, followed by a salad of green beans, onions, and beets, river pike poached in almond milk, mounds of mashed turnips that were cold before they reached the table, jellied calves' brains, and a leche of stringy beef. It was poor fare to set before a king, and the calves' brains turned Catelyn's stomach.

You would never guess Edmure complained of Roslin all the way from Riverrun to the Twins. Husband and wife ate from a single plate, drank from a single cup, and exchanged chaste kisses between sips. Most of the dishes Edmure waved away. He could not blame him for that.

Poor Roslin's smile had a fixed quality to it, as if someone had sewn it onto her face. Well, she is a maid wedded, but the bedding's yet to come. "At the wedding feast I hope you will not refuse to dance with my daughters," Walder Frey had said. "It would please an old man's heart." His heart should be well pleased, then; Robb had done his duty like a king. He had danced with each of the girls, with Edmure's bride and the eighth Lady Frey, with the widow Ami and Roose Bolton's wife Fat Walda, with the pimply twins Serra and Sarra, even with Shirei, Lord Walder's youngest, who must have been all of six. Robb wondered whether the Lord of the Crossing would be satisfied, or if he would find cause for complaint in all the other daughters and granddaughters who had not had a turn with the king. "Your sisters dance very well," he said to Ser Ryman Frey, trying to be pleasant.

"They're aunts and cousins." Ser Ryman drank a swallow of wine, the sweat trickling down his cheek into his beard.

A sour man, and in his cups, Robb thought. The Late Lord Frey might be niggardly when it came to feeding his guests, but he did not stint on the drink. The ale, wine, and mead were flowing as fast as the river outside. The Greatjon was already roaring drunk. Lord Walder's son Merrett was matching him cup for cup, but Ser Whalen Frey had passed out trying to keep up with the two of them.  Nothing had seemed out of place, not yet and yet he could not stop the sense of foreboding that seemed to engulf him. His mother was sat next to him on is right, and she too seemed to be weary of the surroundings.

Everyone thought my lord would choose Fair Walda," Lady Walda Bolton told Ser Wendel, shouting to be heard above the music. Fat Walda was a round pink butterball of a girl with watery blue eyes, limp yellow hair, and a huge bosom, yet her voice was a fluttering squeak. It was hard to picture her in the Dreadfort in her pink lace and cape of vair. "My lord grandfather offered Roose his bride's weight in silver as a dowry, though, so my lord of Bolton picked me." The girl's chins jiggled when she laughed. "I weigh six stone more than Fair Walda, but that was the first time I was glad of it. I'm Lady Bolton now and my cousin's still a maid, and she'll be nineteen soon, poor thing."

The Lord of the Dreadfort paid the chatter no mind, Robb saw. Sometimes he tasted a bite of this, a spoon of that, tearing bread from the loaf with short strong fingers, but the meal could not distract him. Bolton had made a toast to Lord Walder's grandsons when the wedding feast began, pointedly mentioning that Walder and Walder were in the care of his bastard son. Something was going on in the man’s head, what it was though he knew not.

Above the din came a sudden snarling as two dogs fell upon each other over a scrap of meat. They rolled across the floor, snapping and biting, as a howl of mirth went up. Someone doused them with a flagon of ale and they broke apart. One limped toward the dais. Lord Walder's toothless mouth opened in a bark of laughter as the dripping wet dog shook ale and hair all over three of his grandsons.

The sight of the dogs made, Robb think of Greywind in the woods with Alys, Shiera and Lord Rickard. He hoped they would be safe and that this wedding could be done. Beside him his mother sighed. Robb looked at her questioningly, but she merely nodded her head and Robb asked no questions. She had become more melancholy as the days had gone on his mother had, he hoped that she could find some happiness when they returned home.

The Greatjon had drunk another of Lord Walder's brood under the table, Petyr Pimple this time. The lad has a third his capacity, what did he expect? Lord Umber wiped his mouth, stood, and began to sing. "A bear there was, a bear, a BEAR! All black and brown and covered with hair!" His voice was not at all bad, though somewhat thick from drink. Unfortunately the fiddlers and drummers and flutists up above were playing "Flowers of Spring," which suited the words of "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" as well as snails might suit a bowl of porridge. Even poor Jinglebell covered his ears at the cacophony.

“A few more hours and this farce is done, Mother," he said in a low voice, as the Greatjon sang of the maid with honey in her hair. "Black Walder's been mild as a lamb for once. And Uncle Edmure seems well content in his bride."

"Would you care for a dance, Mother?"

"Thank you, but no." His mother replied. "No doubt one of Lord Walder's daughters would be pleased to partner you."

"Oh, no doubt." His smile was resigned. They would all try and get into his good books no doubt.

As he danced with Dacey Mormont he took some time to look about the hall. Edmure was kissing Roslin and squeezing her hand. Elsewhere in the hall, Ser Marq Piper and Ser Danwell Frey played a drinking game, Lame Lothar said something amusing to Ser Hosteen, one of the younger Freys juggled three daggers for a group of giggly girls, and Jinglebell sat on the floor sucking wine off his fingers. The servers were bringing out huge silver platters piled high with cuts of juicy pink lamb, the most appetizing dish they'd seen all evening.

Seated betwixt his black oak towers, the Lord of the Crossing clapped his spotted hands together. The noise they made was so faint that even those on the dais scarce heard it, but Ser Aenys and Ser Hosteen saw and began to pound their cups on the table. Lame Lothar joined them, then Marq Piper and Ser Danwell and Ser Raymund. Half the guests were soon pounding. Finally even the mob of musicians in the gallery took note. The piping, drumming, and fiddling trailed off into quiet.

"Your Grace," Lord Walder called out to Robb, "the septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and Lord Edmure's wrapped my sweetling in a fish cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath, heh, and a wedding needs bedding. What does my sire say? Is it meet that we should bed them?"

Robb raised a hand. "if you think the time is meet, Lord Walder, by all means let us bed them."

A roar of approval greeted his pronouncement. Up in the gallery the musicians took up their pipes and horns and fiddles again, and began to play "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown." Jinglebell hopped from foot to foot, his own crown ringing. "I hear Tully men have trout between their legs instead of cocks," Alyx Frey called out boldly. "Does it take a worm to make them rise?" To which Ser Marq Piper threw back, "I hear that Frey women have two gates in place of one!" and Alyx said, "Aye, but both are closed and barred to little things like you!" A gust of laughter followed, until Patrek Mallister climbed up onto a table to propose a toast to Edmure's one-eyed fish. "And a mighty pike it is!" he proclaimed. "Nay, I'll wager it's a minnow," Fat Walda Bolton shouted out from Catelyn's side. Then the general cry of "Bed them! Bed them!" went up again.

The guests swarmed the dais, the drunkest in the forefront as ever. The men and boys surrounded Roslin and lifted her into the air whilst the maids and mothers in the hall pulled Edmure to his feet and began tugging at his clothing. He was laughing and shouting bawdy jokes back at them, though the music was too loud for Catelyn to hear. She heard the Greatjon, though. "Give this little bride to me," he bellowed as he shoved through the other men and threw Roslin over one shoulder. "Look at this little thing! No meat on her at all!"

As he watched the bride and groom get carried away, he made to walk back to his seat, but when he saw Edwyn Frey push his mother away, and then saw her slap him, he felt his anger stir and he made to move towards them, but then felt something pierce him in the back.  He looked down to see a quarrel jutting out of his rib, a second quarrel buried itself in his leg, then a third buried itself in his chest, and he staggered to the floor. Robin Flint was ringed by Freys, their daggers rising and falling. Ser Wendel Manderly rose ponderously to his feet, holding his leg of lamb. A quarrel went in his open mouth and came out the back of his neck. Ser Wendel crashed forward, knocking the table off its trestles and sending cups, flagons, trenchers, platters, turnips, beets, and wine bouncing, spilling, and sliding across the floor.

He heard his mother scream but could not reply, blood was filling his mouth. The Smalljon bludgeoned Ser Raymund Frey across the face with a leg of mutton. But when he reached for his swordbelt a crossbow bolt drove him to his knees. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. She saw Lucas Blackwood cut down by Ser Hosteen Frey. One of the Vances was hamstrung by Black Walder as he was wrestling with Ser Harys Haigh. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours. The crossbows took Donnel Locke.  When had they begun playing the Rains of Castamere? Robb thought. The Smalljon had thrown a table over him by that point though and so Robb’s vision was obscured.

"Mercy!" Catelyn cried, but horns and drums and the clash of steel smothered her plea. Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in Dacey's stomach. By then men were pouring in the other doors as well, mailed men in shaggy fur cloaks with steel in their hands. Northmen!  From where he lay on the floor he took them for rescue for half a heartbeat, till one of them struck the Smalljon's head off with two huge blows of his axe. Hope blew out like a candle in a storm.

In the midst of slaughter, the Lord of the Crossing sat on his carved oaken throne, watching greedily. Robb threw the table away and struggled to his feet, arrows protruding from his body, and blood pouring from his wounds. Lord Walder raised a hand, and the music stopped, all but one drum. "Heh," Lord Walder cackled at Robb, "the King in the North arises. Seems we killed some of your men, Your Grace. Oh, but I'll make you an apology, that will mend them all again, heh."

Robb saw his mother grab JinglebellLord Walder!" she shouted. "LORD WALDER!" The drum beat slow and sonorous, doom boom doom. "Enough," said Catelyn. "Enough, I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal, let it end." When she pressed her dagger to Jinglebell's throat, the memory of Bran's sickroom came back to her, with the feel of steel at her own throat. The drum went boom boom boom boom boom doom. "Please," she said. "He is my son. My first son and my last. Let him go. Let him go and I swear we will forget this . . . forget all you've done here. I swear it by the old gods and new, we . . . we will take no vengeance . . . "

Lord Walder peered at her in mistrust. "Only a fool would believe such blather. D'you take me for a fool, my lady?"

"I take you for a father. Keep me for a hostage, Edmure as well if you haven't killed him. But let Robb go."

“No,” his voice was a whisper now so very faint. “Mother no...”

“Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, please. Save yourself . . . if not for me, for Alys, for Shiera.” His mother begged of him tears in her eyes.

“Alys... Shiera?” he grabbed the edge of a table and forced himself to stand. “Mother, Greywind...”

"Go to him. Now. Robb, walk out of here."

Lord Walder snorted. "And why would I let him do that?"

His mother pressed the blade deeper into Jinglebell's throat. The lackwit rolled his eyes at her in mute appeal. A foul stench assailed her nose, but she paid it no more mind than she did the sullen ceaseless pounding of that drum, boom doom boom doom boom doom. Ser Ryman and Black Walder were circling round her back, Robb was about to shout out a warning to he when she spoke once more. "On my honour as a Tully," she told Lord Walder, "on my honour as a Stark, I will trade your boy's life for Robb's. A son for a son." Her hand shook so badly she was ringing Jinglebell's head.

Boom, the drum sounded, boom doom boom doom. The old man's lips went in and out. The knife trembled in Catelyn's hand, slippery with sweat. "A son for a son, heh," he repeated. "But that's a grandson . . . and he never was much use."

Roose Bolton walked up to him then, a knife in hand, Robb leaned forward thinking to use his support. Bolton leaned in and whispered in that deceitfully soft voice of his, “Jaime Lannister sends his regards.” Then Robb felt the cold steel being plunged into his chest, he felt the blood pour out of him, he heard his mother screaming, he heard the howling of Greywind far in the woods. But before the Young Wolf died, there was one name on his lips. “Alys...” Then the King in the North died.

* * *

**Tyrion**

He had come to King’s Landing as Hand of the King, acting in his father’s stead. He had done all he could during the battle of the Green Fork. He had brought the mountain clans with him, and had put them to use in the city. He had done all he could to keep King’s Landing functioning despite the barraging of the Roseroad and the diminishing supplies in the city.  He had done all he could to limit the damage of Joffrey and Cersei’s follies and impulses. He had agreed to a betrothal between Myrcella and Prince Trystane Martell to bring Dorne closer to the Iron Throne, in exchange he would give them the men responsible for Princess Elia and her children’s deaths. How he knew not, but he was a Lannister, and a Lannister always paid their debts, as Jonos Slynt, Maester Pycelle had all found out.

Then Stannis had attacked. The Battle of the Blackwater may have lasted one day in terms of fighting and such, but the preparation that went into it, the setting up of the Wildfire, the sending of the wildlings from the Vale into the Kingswood, the multiple fallback options that Tyrion had come up with should the city fall, all of that had taken weeks. The battle itself had seemed to be going their way, the wildfire took care of most of Stannis Baratheon’s ships, Tyrion had watched them burn, had watched as the green flames engulfed the ships, the men and the water and formed shapes like a dragon rising out of the ashes. Stannis Baratheon’s fleet had burned and yet the man had somehow managed to get ashore with some of his men. The fighting was fierce and at point it did look as if Stannis and his men might breach the city walls, and Tyrion had felt the pit of despair open up like a cathartic wound and almost swallow him whole. Then had come the attempt on his life. Ser Mandon Moore, a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to defend the royal family had tried to kill him. Had almost succeeded had it not been for Pod, Tyrion’s squire and the boy’s almost inhuman reactions.

Tyrion had woken up days later in a bed not in the Tower of the Hand, but in a dim room in Maegor’s Holdfast. By some miracle, his father and the Tyrells had come to save the city with close to 80,000 men and had taken Stannis in the rear, destroying what was left of the man’s host and forcing him to retreat. Tywin Lannister had been regaled as a hero for weeks afterwards, and Tyrion had lain on his sickbed fuming. He of course received little to none of the credit and none of the rewards that should truly have been his as the man who had deigned to use the Wildfire for a proper purpose. And of course the one time he had tried to claim any reward, though it was his by right, his father had outright refused him and had humiliated him. Tyrion had asked for nothing since then, and then he had been promoted to the position of Maester of Coin in Littlefinger’s absence. Tyrion had been so close to piecing together all the events that had led to his kidnapping when the man had gone to the Vale, and of course now they had no word for him, and the one piece of conclusive evidence that would have had even Littlefinger flustered had died on the Blackwater, in the form of Ser Mandon Moore.

News of the fall of Winterfell had been well received by Joffrey, as had the deaths of the two little Stark boys. It had fallen to Tyrion to tell Sansa the news. She had not wept, but there had been such sorrow in her eyes, it had broken Tyrion’s heart. No girl should have suffer so much pain and suffering as the Stark girl had had to. Then his father had informed him that the Tyrells were scheming to marry Sansa to Willas, the crippled heir to Highgarden, Tyrion had been so close to suggesting that they should let it happen, but then his father had told him that he was to marry Sansa instead. His father was adamant that Sansa Stark was the key to the north, at the time he had not known how, the boy was winning all the battles he had fought and his wife had just given birth to a girl. And so he had married Sansa Stark in the Sept of Baelor, though neither of them was happy with the arrangement they made do. The worst thing was that Tyrion did actually desire his little wife, she was gorgeous and lovely to look upon, but she was terrified of him and after her treatment at the hands of Joff and Cersei, he could not truly blame her.

But for once in his miserable existence he resisted his more carnal urges and had not bedded her. Of course that had subjected him to much mockery amongst the court and particularly from his nephew, but as he now suspected that his not taking his rights may have spared Sansa from less pain than perhaps it should have.  Word had come from the Twins of the deaths of Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark and several other prominent northmen and Riverlords during the wedding of Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey. No word was made of Alys Stark or her and the Young Wolf’s child, but his father did not seem overly concerned by that, for he had said that she would not survive for long not with a young babe and Ironborn in the North. Roose Bolton had been named Warden of North for the time being, and his bastard son would marry “Arya Stark” and become Lord of Winterfell until such a time that a child was born to him and Sansa. Tyrion had left to tell his wife the news, and found that she already knew. Her eyes were not red from the tears she had obviously been crying, Shae looked at him with an expression of such anger and shame he knew not what to say, nor did he know what words of comfort to give her.

Then the Dornishmen had come. Led by Prince Oberyn to claim the justice Tyrion had promised them and to take up the Dornish seat on the small council. Each day Prince Oberyn would ask him when justice would be given, and it took all of Tyrion’s will power to not snap back that so  long as his father lived, justice would never be given, Ser Gregor was too close to a pawn for Tywin Lannister to disperse with easily. Sansa, it seemed was cheered by the arrival of the Dornish contingent, for her cousin Jeyne Sand and the girl’s mother Ashara Dayne had come with Prince Oberyn.  The girl Tyrion had seen in Winterfell returned when Sansa was in the company of her cousin, she was all easy smiles and joyful laughs. Tyrion had been happy that his wife could find some joy in King’s Landing, even if it came at a serious cost. Of course Joffrey had to ruin whatever happiness Sansa had. His fool of a nephew would always act the gentleman whenever he was with his betrothed Margaery Tyrell, but the one thing Sansa had confided in him was that Joffrey had turned into a complete monster when he was not with Margaery. He taunted Sansa and Jeyne, and she had told him that she had found Jeyne curled up in a ball one day in Sansa’s old room crying her eyes out, bruises on her arms and neck, from what she would not say, though Tyrion had some sort of an idea, and he felt revulsion whenever he looked at his nephew now, and of course because the boy was King, he could get away with it. Tyrion made sure to provide Jeyne Sand with moon tea discreetly after Sansa had confided in him, it was the least he could do, though he did note that the Dornish contingent had gone from being relatively friendly to quite hostile, Lady Ashara, Lord Gargalen and Prince Oberyn especially. It was only a matter of time before something happened.

As such Tyrion was not sorry when Joffrey died. As far as he was concerned the boy had it coming.  He was an arrogant, pompous ass, who was mean and would have been a worse king than Aerys the mad. And the only regret Tyrion had had was that he could not be the one to kill his cunt of a nephew himself and that the boy had died choking on pidegon pie, which Tyrion had had the misfortune to have had to have served him. That of course led to his sister accusing him of murder. Sansa had disappeared from the wedding and from King’s Landing well before the bells of Baelor had tolled to signal Joffrey’s death and he had a rough idea where she might be now, though he said not a word to his uncle Kevan nor his father or Lord Tyrell when questioned, though he suspected that Prince Oberyn knew where Sansa was as well.

His trial was a farce from beginning to end. : _Ser Addam Marbrand waited at the door with six gold cloaks. He had nothing to say this morning, it seemed. Another good man who thinks me a kinslayer. Tyrion summoned all the dignity he could find and waddled down the steps. He could feel them all watching him as he crossed the yard; the guards on the walls, the grooms by the stables, the scullions and washerwomen and serving girls. Inside the throne room, knights and lordlings moved aside to let them through, and whispered to their ladies._

_No sooner had Tyrion taken his place before the judges than another group of gold cloaks led in Shae._

_A cold hand tightened round his heart. Varys betrayed her, he thought. Then he remembered. No. I betrayed her myself. I should have left her with Lollys. Of course they'd question Sansa's maids, I'd do the same. Tyrion rubbed at the slick scar where his nose had been, wondering why Cersei had bothered. Shae knows nothing that can hurt me._

_"They plotted it together," she said, this girl he'd loved. "The Imp and Lady Sansa plotted it after the Young Wolf died. Sansa wanted revenge for her brother and Tyrion meant to have the throne. He was going to kill his sister next, and then his own lord father, so he could be Hand for Prince Tommen. But after a year or so, before Tommen got too old, he would have killed him too, so as to take the crown for his own head."_

_"How could you know all this?" demanded Prince Oberyn. "Why would the Imp pulge such plans to his wife's maid?"_

_"I overheard some, m'lord," said Shae, "and m'lady let things slip too. But most I had from his own lips. I wasn't only Lady Sansa's maid. I was his whore, all the time he was here in King's Landing. On the morning of the wedding, he dragged me down where they keep the dragon skulls and fucked me there with the monsters all around. And when I cried, he said I ought to be more grateful, that it wasn't every girl who got to be the king's whore. That was when he told me how he meant to be king. He said that poor boy Joffrey would never know his bride the way he was knowing me." She started sobbing then. "I never meant to be a whore, m'lords. I was to be married. A squire, he was, and a good brave boy, gentle born. But the Imp saw me at the Green Fork and put the boy I meant to marry in the front rank of the van, and after he was killed he sent his wildlings to bring me to his tent. Shagga, the big one, and Timett with the burned eye. He said if I didn't pleasure him, he'd give me to them, so I did. Then he brought me to the city, so I'd be close when he wanted me. He made me do such shameful things . . . "_

_Prince Oberyn looked curious. "What sorts of things?"_

_"Unspeakable things." As the tears rolled slowly down that pretty face, no doubt every man in the hall wanted to take Shae in his arms and comfort her. "With my mouth and . . . other parts, m'lord. All my parts. He used me every way there was, and . . . he used to make me tell him how big he was. My giant, I had to call him, my giant of Lannister."_

_Oswald Kettleblack was the first to laugh. Boros and Meryn joined in, then Cersei, Ser Loras, and more lords and ladies than he could count. The sudden gale of mirth made the rafters ring and shook the Iron Throne. "It's true," Shae protested. "My giant of Lannister." The laughter swelled twice as loud. Their mouths were twisted in merriment, their bellies shook. Some laughed so hard that snot flew from their nostrils._

_I saved you all, Tyrion thought. I saved this vile city and all your worthless lives. There were hundreds in the throne room, every one of them laughing but his father. Or so it seemed. Even the Red Viper chortled, and Mace Tyrell looked like to bust a gut, but Lord Tywin Lannister sat between them as if made of stone, his fingers steepled beneath his chin._

_Tyrion pushed forward. "MY LORDS!" he shouted. He had to shout, to have any hope of being heard._

_His father raised a hand. Bit by bit, the hall grew silent._

_"Get this lying whore out of my sight," said Tyrion, "and I will give you your confession."_

_Lord Tywin nodded, gestured. Shae looked half in terror as the gold cloaks formed up around her. Her eyes met Tyrion's as they marched her from the wall. Was it shame he saw there, or fear? He wondered what Cersei had promised her. You will get the gold or jewels, whatever it was you asked for, he thought as he watched her back recede, but before the moon has turned she'll have you entertaining the gold cloaks in their barracks._

_Tyrion stared up at his father's hard green eyes with their flecks of cold bright gold. "Guilty," he said, "so guilty. Is that what you wanted to hear?"_

_Lord Tywin said nothing. Mace Tyrell nodded. Prince Oberyn looked mildly disappointed. "You admit you poisoned the king?"_

_"Nothing of the sort," said Tyrion. "Of Joffrey's death I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime." He took a step toward his father. "I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it. And no matter how many times my good father forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy."_

_"This is folly, Tyrion," declared Lord Tywin. "Speak to the matter at hand. You are not on trial for being a dwarf."_

_"That is where you err, my lord. I have been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life."_

_"Have you nothing to say in your defense?"_

_"Nothing but this: I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had." He turned to face the hall, that sea of pale faces. "I wish I had enough poison for you all. You make me sorry that I am not the monster you would have me be, yet there it is. I am innocent, but I will get no justice here. You leave me no choice but to appeal to the gods. I demand trial by battle."_

_"Have you taken leave of your wits?" his father said._

_"No, I've found them. I demand trial by battle!"_

_His sweet sister could not have been more pleased. "He has that right, my lords," she reminded the judges. "Let the gods judge. Ser Gregor Clegane will stand for Joffrey. He returned to the city the night before last, to put his sword at my service."_

_Lord Tywin's face was so dark that for half a heartbeat Tyrion wondered if he'd drunk some poisoned wine as well. He slammed his fist down on the table, too angry to speak. It was Mace Tyrell who turned to Tyrion and asked the question. "Do you have a champion to defend your innocence?"_

_"He does, my lord." Prince Oberyn of Dorne rose to his feet. "The dwarf has quite convinced me."_

_The uproar was deafening. Tyrion took especial pleasure in the sudden doubt he glimpsed in Cersei's eyes. It took a hundred gold cloaks pounding the butts of their spears against the floor to quiet the throne room again. By then Lord Tywin Lannister had recovered himself. "Let the issue be decided on the morrow," he declared in iron tones. "I wash my hands of it." He gave his dwarf son a cold angry look, then strode from the hall, out the king's door behind the Iron Throne, his brother Kevan at his side._

_Later, back in his tower cell, Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine and sent Podrick Payne off for cheese, bread, and olives. He doubted whether he could keep down anything heavier just now. Did you think I would go meekly, Father? he asked the shadow his candles etched upon the wall. I have too much of you in me for that. He felt strangely at peace, now that he had snatched the power of life and death from his father's hands and placed it in the hands of the gods. Assuming there are gods, and they give a mummer's fart. If not, then I'm in Dornish hands. No matter what happened, Tyrion had the satisfaction of knowing that he'd kicked Lord Tywin's plans to splinters. If Prince Oberyn won, it would further inflame Highgarden against the Dornish; Mace Tyrell would see the man who crippled his son helping the dwarf who almost poisoned his daughter to escape his rightful punishment. And if the Mountain triumphed, Doran Martell might well demand to know why his brother had been served with death instead of the justice Tyrion had promised him. Dorne might crown Myrcella after all._

_It was almost worth dying to know all the trouble he'd made. Will you come to see the end, Shae? Will you stand there with the rest, watching as Ser Ilyn lops my ugly head off? Will you miss your giant of Lannister when he's dead? He drained his wine, flung the cup aside, and sang lustily._

_He rode through the streets of the city,_

_down from his hill on high,_

_O'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbles,_

_he rode to a woman's sigh._

_For she was his secret treasure,_

_she was his shame and his bliss._

_And a chain and a keep are nothing,_

_compared to a woman's kiss._

_Ser Kevan did not visit him that night. He was probably with Lord Tywin, trying to placate the Tyrells. I have seen the last of that uncle, I fear. He poured another cup of wine. A pity he'd had Symon Silver Tongue killed before learning all the words of that song. It wasn't a bad song, if truth be told. Especially compared to the ones that would be written about him henceforth. "For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm," he sang. Perhaps he should write the other verses himself. If he lived so long._

_That night, surprisingly, Tyrion Lannister slept long and deep. He rose at first light, well rested and with a hearty appetite, and broke his fast on fried bread, blood sausage, applecakes, and a double helping of eggs cooked with onions and fiery Dornish peppers. Then he begged leave of his guards to attend his champion. Ser Addam gave his consent._

_Tyrion found Prince Oberyn drinking a cup of red wine as he donned his armor. He was attended by four of his younger Dornish lordlings. "Good morrow to you, my lord," the prince said. "Will you take a cup of wine?"_

_"Should you be drinking before battle?"_

_"I always drink before battle."_

_"That could get you killed. Worse, it could get me killed."_

_Prince Oberyn laughed. "The gods defend the innocent. You are innocent, I trust?"_

_"Only of killing Joffrey," Tyrion admitted. "I do hope you know what you are about to face. Gregor Clegane is—"_

_"—large? So I have heard."_

_"He is almost eight feet tall and must weigh thirty stone, all of it muscle. He fights with a two-handed greatsword, but needs only one hand to wield it. He has been known to cut men in half with a single blow. His armor is so heavy that no lesser man could bear the weight, let alone move in it."_

_Prince Oberyn was unimpressed. "I have killed large men before. The trick is to get them off their feet. Once they go down, they're dead." The Dornishman sounded so blithely confident that Tyrion felt almost reassured, until he turned and said, "Daemon, my spear!" Ser Daemon tossed it to him, and the Red Viper snatched it from the air._

_"You mean to face the Mountain with a spear?" That made Tyrion uneasy all over again. In battle, ranks of massed spears made for a formidable front, but single combat against a skilled swordsman was a very different matter._

_"We are fond of spears in Dorne. Besides, it is the only way to counter his reach. Have a look, Lord Imp, but see you do not touch." The spear was turned ash eight feet long, the shaft smooth, thick, and heavy. The last two feet of that was steel: a slender leaf-shaped spearhead narrowing to a wicked spike. The edges looked sharp enough to shave with. When Oberyn spun the haft between the palms of his hand, they glistened black. Oil? Or poison? Tyrion decided that he would sooner not know. "I hope you are good with that," he said doubtfully._

_"You will have no cause for complaint. Though Ser Gregor may. However thick his plate, there will be gaps at the joints. Inside the elbow and knee, beneath the arms . . . I will find a place to tickle him, I promise you." He set the spear aside. "It is said that a Lannister always pays his debts. Perhaps you will return to Sunspear with me when the day's bloodletting is done. My brother Doran would be most pleased to meet the rightful heir to Casterly Rock . . . especially if he brought his lovely wife, the Lady of Winterfell."_

_Does the snake think I have Sansa squirreled away somewhere, like a nut I'm hoarding for winter? If so, Tyrion was not about to disabuse him. "A trip to Dorne might be very pleasant, now that I reflect on it."_

_"Plan on a lengthy visit." Prince Oberyn sipped his wine. "You and Doran have many matters of mutual interest to discuss. Music, trade, history, wine, the dwarf's penny . . . the laws of inheritance and succession. No doubt an uncle's counsel would be of benefit to Queen Myrcella in the trying times ahead."_

_If Varys had his little birds listening, Oberyn was giving them a ripe earful. "I believe I will have that cup of wine," said Tyrion. Queen Myrcella? It would have been more tempting if only he did have Sansa tucked beneath his cloak. If she declared for Myrcella over Tommen, would the north follow? What the Red Viper was hinting at was treason. Could Tyrion truly take up arms against Tommen, against his own father? Cersei would spit blood. It might be worth it for that alone._

_"Do you recall the tale I told you of our first meeting, Imp?" Prince Oberyn asked, as the Bastard of Godsgrace knelt before him to fasten his greaves. "It was not for your tail alone that my sister and I came to Casterly Rock. We were on a quest of sorts. A quest that took us to Starfall, the Arbor, Oldtown, the Shield Islands, Crakehall, and finally Casterly Rock . . . but our true destination was marriage. Doran was betrothed to Lady Mellario of Norvos, so he had been left behind as castellan of Sunspear. My sister and I were yet unpromised._

_"Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel. I preferred to amuse myself by mocking my sister's suitors. There was Little Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips, one I named the Whale That Walks, that sort of thing. The only one who was even halfway presentable was young Baelor Hightower. A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him until he had the misfortune to fart once in our presence. I promptly named him Baelor Breakwind, and after that Elia couldn't look at him without laughing. I was a monstrous young fellow, someone should have sliced out my vile tongue."_

_Yes, Tyrion agreed silently. Baelor Hightower was no longer young, but he remained Lord Leyton's heir; wealthy, handsome, and a knight of splendid repute. Baelor Brightsmile, they called him now. Had Elia wed him in place of Rhaegar Targaryen, she might be in Oldtown with her children growing tall around her. He wondered how many lives had been snuffed out by that fart._

_"Lannisport was the end of our voyage," Prince Oberyn went on, as Ser Arron Qorgyle helped him into a padded leather tunic and began lacing it up the back. "Were you aware that our mothers knew each other of old?"_

_"They had been at court together as girls, I seem to recall. Companions to Princess Rhaella?"_

_"Just so. It was my belief that the mothers had cooked up this plot between them. Squire Squishlips and his ilk and the various pimply young maidens who'd been paraded before me were the almonds before the feast, meant only to whet our appetites. The main course was to be served at Casterly Rock."_

_"Cersei and Jaime."_

_"Such a clever dwarf. Elia and I were older, to be sure. Your brother and sister could not have been more than eight or nine. Still, a difference of five or six years is little enough. And there was an empty cabin on our ship, a very nice cabin, such as might be kept for a person of high birth. As if it were intended that we take someone back to Sunspear. A young page, perhaps. Or a companion for Elia. Your lady mother meant to betroth Jaime to my sister, or Cersei to me. Perhaps both."_

_"Perhaps," said Tyrion, "but my father—"_

_"—ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but was ruled at home by his lady wife, or so my mother always said." Prince Oberyn raised his arms, so Lord Dagos Manwoody and the Bastard of Godsgrace could slip a chainmail byrnie down over his head. "At Oldtown we learned of your mother's death, and the monstrous child she had borne. We might have turned back there, but my mother chose to sail on. I told you of the welcome we found at Casterly Rock._

_"What I did not tell you was that my mother waited as long as was decent, and then broached your father about our purpose. Years later, on her deathbed, she told me that Lord Tywin had refused us brusquely. His daughter was meant for Prince Rhaegar, he informed her. And when she asked for Jaime, to espouse Elia, he offered her you instead."_

_"Which offer she took for an outrage."_

_"It was. Even you can see that, surely?"_

_"Oh, surely." It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads. "Well, Prince Rhaegar married Elia of Dorne, not Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock. So it would seem your mother won that tilt."_

_"She thought so," Prince Oberyn agreed, "but your father is not a man to forget such slights. He taught that lesson to Lord and Lady Tarbeck once, and to the Reynes of Castamere. And at King's Landing, he taught it to my sister. My helm, Dagos." Manwoody handed it to him; a high golden helm with a copper disk mounted on the brow, the sun of Dorne. The visor had been removed, Tyrion saw. "Elia and her children have waited long for justice." Prince Oberyn pulled on soft red leather gloves, and took up his spear again. "But this day they shall have it."_

_The outer ward had been chosen for the combat. Tyrion had to skip and run to keep up with Prince Oberyn's long strides. The snake is eager, he thought. Let us hope he is venomous as well. The day was grey and windy. The sun was struggling to break through the clouds, but Tyrion could no more have said who was going to win that fight than the one on which his life depended._

_It looked as though a thousand people had come to see if he would live or die. They lined the castle wallwalks and elbowed one another on the steps of keeps and towers. They watched from the stable doors, from windows and bridges, from balconies and roofs. And the yard was packed with them, so many that the gold cloaks and the knights of the Kingsguard had to shove them back to make enough room for the fight. Some had dragged out chairs to watch more comfortably, while others perched on barrels. We should have done this in the Dragonpit, Tyrion thought sourly. We could have charged a penny a head and paid for Joffrey's wedding and funeral both. Some of the onlookers even had small children sitting on their shoulders, to get a better view. They shouted and pointed at the sight of Tyrion._

_Cersei seemed half a child herself beside Ser Gregor. In his armor, the Mountain looked bigger than any man had any right to be. Beneath a long yellow surcoat bearing the three black dogs of Clegane, he wore heavy plate over chainmail, dull grey steel dinted and scarred in battle. Beneath that would be boiled leather and a layer of quilting. A flat-topped greathelm was bolted to his gorget, with breaths around the mouth and nose and a narrow slit for vision. The crest atop it was a stone fist._

_If Ser Gregor was suffering from wounds, Tyrion could see no sign of it from across the yard. He looks as though he was chiseled out of rock, standing there. His greatsword was planted in the ground before him, six feet of scarred metal. Ser Gregor's huge hands, clad in gauntlets of lobstered steel, clasped the crosshilt to either side of the grip. Even Prince Oberyn's paramour paled at the sight of him. "You are going to fight that?" Ellaria Sand said in a hushed voice._

_"I am going to kill that," her lover replied carelessly._

_Tyrion had his own doubts, now that they stood on the brink. When he looked at Prince Oberyn, he found himself wishing he had Bronn defending him . . . or even better, Jaime. The Red Viper was lightly armored; greaves, vambraces, gorget, spaulder, steel codpiece. Elsewise Oberyn was clad in supple leather and flowing silks. Over his byrnie he wore his scales of gleaming copper, but mail and scale together would not give him a quarter the protection of Gregor's heavy plate. With its visor removed, the prince's helm was effectively no better than a halfhelm, lacking even a nasal. His round steel shield was brightly polished, and showed the sun-and-spear in red gold, yellow gold, white gold, and copper._

_Dance around him until he's so tired he can hardly lift his arm, then put him on his back. The Red Viper seemed to have the same notion as Bronn. But the sellsword had been blunt about the risks of such tactics. I hope to seven hells that you know what you are doing, snake._

_A platform had been erected beside the Tower of the Hand, halfway between the two champions. That was where Lord Tywin sat with his brother Ser Kevan. King Tommen was not in evidence; for that, at least, Tyrion was grateful._

_Lord Tywin glanced briefly at his dwarf son, then lifted his hand. A dozen trumpeters blew a fanfare to quiet the crowd. The High Septon shuffled forward in his tall crystal crown, and prayed that the Father Above would help them in this judgment, and that the Warrior would lend his strength to the arm of the man whose cause was just. That would be me, Tyrion almost shouted, but they would only laugh, and he was sick unto death of laughter._

_Ser Osmund Kettleblack brought Clegane his shield, a massive thing of heavy oak rimmed in black iron. As the Mountain slid his left arm through the straps, Tyrion saw that the hounds of Clegane had been painted over. This morning Ser Gregor bore the seven-pointed star the Andals had brought to Westeros when they crossed the narrow sea to overwhelm the First Men and their gods. Very pious of you, Cersei, but I doubt the gods will be impressed._

_There were fifty yards between them. Prince Oberyn advanced quickly, Ser Gregor more ominously. The ground does not shake when he walks, Tyrion told himself. That is only my heart fluttering. When the two men were ten yards apart, the Red Viper stopped and called out, "Have they told you who I am?"_

_Ser Gregor grunted through his breaths. "Some dead man." He came on, inexorable._

_The Dornishman slid sideways. "I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dorne," he said, as the Mountain turned to keep him in sight. "Princess Elia was my sister."_

_"Who?" asked Gregor Clegane._

_Oberyn's long spear jabbed, but Ser Gregor took the point on his shield, shoved it aside, and bulled back at the prince, his great sword flashing. The Dornishman spun away untouched. The spear darted forward. Clegane slashed at it, Martell snapped it back, then thrust again. Metal screamed on metal as the spearhead slid off the Mountain's chest, slicing through the surcoat and leaving a long bright scratch on the steel beneath. "Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne," the Red Viper hissed. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."_

_Ser Gregor grunted. He made a ponderous charge to hack at the Dornishman's head. Prince Oberyn avoided him easily. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."_

_"Did you come to talk or to fight?"_

_"I came to hear you confess." The Red Viper landed a quick thrust on the Mountain's belly, to no effect. Gregor cut at him, and missed. The long spear lanced in above his sword. Like a serpent's tongue it flickered in and out, feinting low and landing high, jabbing at groin, shield, eyes. The Mountain makes for a big target, at the least, Tyrion thought. Prince Oberyn could scarcely miss, though none of his blows was penetrating Ser Gregor's heavy plate. The Dornishman kept circling, jabbing, then darting back again, forcing the bigger man to turn and turn again. Clegane is losing sight of him. The Mountain's helm had a narrow eyeslit, severely limiting his vision. Oberyn was making good use of that, and the length of his spear, and his quickness._

_It went on that way for what seemed a long time. Back and forth they moved across the yard, and round and round in spirals, Ser Gregor slashing at the air while Oberyn's spear struck at arm, and leg, twice at his temple. Gregor's big wooden shield took its share of hits as well, until a dog's head peeped out from under the star, and elsewhere the raw oak showed through. Clegane would grunt from time to time, and once Tyrion heard him mutter a curse, but otherwise he fought in a sullen silence._

_Not Oberyn Martell. "You raped her," he called, feinting. "You murdered her," he said, dodging a looping cut from Gregor's greatsword. "You killed her children," he shouted, slamming the spearpoint into the giant's throat, only to have it glance off the thick steel gorget with a screech._

_"Oberyn is toying with him," said Ellaria Sand._

_That is fool's play, thought Tyrion. "The Mountain is too bloody big to be any man's toy."_

_All around the yard, the throng of spectators was creeping in toward the two combatants, edging forward inch by inch to get a better view. The Kingsguard tried to keep them back, shoving at the gawkers forcefully with their big white shields, but there were hundreds of gawkers and only six of the men in white armor._

_"You raped her." Prince Oberyn parried a savage cut with his spearhead. "You murdered her." He sent the spearpoint at Clegane's eyes, so fast the huge man flinched back. "You killed her children." The spear flickered sideways and down, scraping against the Mountain's breastplate. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." The spear was two feet longer than Ser Gregor's sword, more than enough to keep him at an awkward distance. He hacked at the shaft whenever Oberyn lunged at him, trying to lop off the spearhead, but he might as well have been trying to hack the wings off a fly. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." Gregor tried to bull rush, but Oberyn skipped aside and circled round his back. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."_

_"Be quiet." Ser Gregor seemed to be moving a little slower, and his greatsword no longer rose quite so high as it had when the contest began. "Shut your bloody mouth."_

_"You raped her," the prince said, moving to the right._

_"Enough!" Ser Gregor took two long strides and brought his sword down at Oberyn's head, but the Dornishman backstepped once more. "You murdered her," he said._

_"SHUT UP!" Gregor charged headlong, right at the point of the spear, which slammed into his right breast then slid aside with a hideous steel shriek. Suddenly the Mountain was close enough to strike, his huge sword flashing in a steel blur. The crowd was screaming as well. Oberyn slipped the first blow and let go of the spear, useless now that Ser Gregor was inside it. The second cut the Dornishman caught on his shield. Metal met metal with an ear-splitting clang sending the Red Viper reeling. Ser Gregor followed, bellowing. He doesn't use words, he just roars like an animal, Tyrion thought. Oberyn's retreat became a headlong backward flight mere inches ahead of the greatsword as it slashed at his chest, his arms, his head._

_The stable was behind him. Spectators screamed and shoved at each other to get out of the way. One stumbled into Oberyn's back. Ser Gregor hacked down with all his savage strength. The Red Viper threw himself sideways, rolling. The luckless stableboy behind him was not so quick. As his arm rose to protect his face, Gregor's sword took it off between elbow and shoulder. "Shut UP!" the Mountain howled at the stableboy's scream, and this time he swung the blade sideways, sending the top half of the lad's head across the yard in a spray of blood and brains. Hundreds of spectators suddenly seemed to lose all interest in the guilt or innocence of Tyrion Lannister, judging by the way they pushed and shoved at each other to escape the yard._

_But the Red Viper of Dorne was back on his feet, his long spear in hand. "Elia," he called at Ser Gregor. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. Now say her name."_

_The Mountain whirled. Helm, shield, sword, surcoat; he was spattered with gore from head to heels. "You talk too much," he grumbled. "You make my head hurt."_

_"I will hear you say it. She was Elia of Dorne."_

_The Mountain snorted contemptuously, and came on . . . and in that moment, the sun broke through the low clouds that had hidden the sky since dawn._

_The sun of Dorne, Tyrion told himself, but it was Gregor Clegane who moved first to put the sun at his back. This is a dim and brutal man, but he has a warrior's instincts._

_The Red Viper crouched, squinting, and sent his spear darting forward again. Ser Gregor hacked at it, but the thrust had only been a feint. Off balance, he stumbled forward a step._

_Prince Oberyn tilted his dinted metal shield. A shaft of sunlight blazed blindingly off polished gold and copper, into the narrow slit of his foe's helm. Clegane lifted his own shield against the glare. Prince Oberyn's spear flashed like lightning and found the gap in the heavy plate, the joint under the arm. The point punched through mail and boiled leather. Gregor gave a choked grunt as the Dornishman twisted his spear and yanked it free. "Elia. Say it! Elia. Of Dorne!" He was circling, spear poised for another thrust. "Say it!"_

_Tyrion had his own prayer. Fall down and die, was how it went. Damn you, fall down and die! The blood trickling from the Mountain's armpit was his own now, and he must be bleeding even more heavily inside the breastplate. When he tried to take a step, one knee buckled. Tyrion thought he was going down._

_Prince Oberyn had circled behind him. "ELIA OF DORNE!" he shouted. Ser Gregor started to turn, but too slow and too late. The spearhead went through the back of the knee this time, through the layers of chain and leather between the plates on thigh and calf. The Mountain reeled, swayed, then collapsed face first on the ground. His huge sword went flying from his hand. Slowly, ponderously, he rolled onto his back._

_The Dornishman flung away his ruined shield, grasped the spear in both hands, and sauntered away. Behind him the Mountain let out a groan, and pushed himself onto an elbow. Oberyn whirled cat-quick, and ran at his fallen foe. "EEEEELLLLLLIIIIIAAAAA!" he screamed, as he drove the spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it. The crack of the ashwood shaft snapping was almost as sweet a sound as Cersei's wail of fury, and for an instant Prince Oberyn had wings. The snake has vaulted over the Mountain. Four feet of broken spear jutted from Clegane's belly as Prince Oberyn rolled, rose, and dusted himself off. He tossed aside the splintered spear and claimed his foe's greatsword. "If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells," he promised._

_Ser Gregor tried to rise, The broken spear had gone through him, and was pinning him to the ground. He wrapped both hands about the shaft, grunting, but could not pull it out. Beneath him was a spreading pool of red. "I am feeling more innocent by the instant," Tyrion told Ellaria Sand beside him._

_Prince Oberyn moved closer. "Say the name!" He put a foot on the Mountain's chest and raised the greatsword with both hands. Whether he intended to hack off Gregor's head or shove the point through his eyeslit was something Tyrion would never know._

_Clegane's hand shot up and grabbed the Dornishman behind the knee. The Red Viper brought down the greatsword in a wild slash, but he was off-balance, and the edge did no more than put another dent in the Mountain's vambrace. Then the sword was forgotten as Gregor's hand tightened and twisted, yanking the Dornishman down on top of him. They wrestled in the dust and blood, the broken spear wobbling back and forth. Tyrion saw with horror that the Mountain had wrapped one huge arm around the prince, drawing him tight against his chest, like a lover._

_"Elia of Dorne," they all heard Ser Gregor say, when they were close enough to kiss. His deep voice boomed within the helm. "I killed her screaming whelp." He thrust his free hand into Oberyn's unprotected face, pushing steel fingers into his eyes. "Then I raped her." Clegane slammed his fist into the Dornishman's mouth, making splinters of his teeth. "Then I smashed her fucking head in. Like this." He never heard his father speak the words that condemned him. Perhaps no words were necessary. I put my life in the Red Viper's hands, and he dropped it. When he remembered, too late, that snakes had no hands, Tyrion began to laugh hysterically._

_He was halfway down the serpentine steps before he realized that the gold cloaks were not taking him back to his tower room. "I've been consigned to the black cells," he said. They did not bother to answer. Why waste your breath on the dead?_

That night he sat alone in his cell, waiting for death to come for him. He thought of his life, short as it had been, and of loves lost and gained. Shae, she had betrayed him in the end as he knew she would, Tysha no more than a whore paid to make him a man. He was surprised when he saw his brother Jaime enter the cell, a torch in his hand. “Jaime? Have you come to kill me?”

“No,” his brother’s voice was hoarse. “I’ve come to save you little brother.”

Tyrion laughed. “How?”

“Varys.”

“Of course, well then let us not delay.” Tyrion said walking forward. Jaime’s outstretched hand stopped him short though.

“Did you do it?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion turned his head up and looked at his brother with his mismatched eyes. “Did I do what brother? Kill the king? Or Kill your son?”

“Both.”

“No.”

Tyrion walked out of the cell, but Jaime did not follow. “Tyrion there’s something you need to know.”

He stopped, “Oh?”

“I am sorry brother. For all of this.”

“You have nothing to apologise for Jaime.” Tyrion said.

“I do,” his brother whispered. Tyrion turned round and looked at his brother, his hero. Jaime swallowed and spoke then his voice hoarse once more. “About Tysha.” Tyrion felt something inside of him tighten at her name. His brother went on. “She was never a whore brother. She was some girl we found on the road, but later after you married her, father made me swear to lie to you and tell you she was a whore.”

Tyrion felt his heart break, Tysha, his love, his world, a lie, it was all a lie. He was angry now. “You lied to me Jaime. You did nothing when father ordered her raped and beaten. You could have stopped it, you could have stopped him. Why didn’t you?”

Jaime didn’t reply. Tyrion gave a harsh laugh. “Well then let me tell you something about our sister Jaime. You might think she’s been faithful to you. But she hasn’t. She’s fucked Lancel, the Kettleblacks and Moonboy.”

He walked out then, leaving Jaime behind in the darkness. He found Varys in the tunnels beneath the prison, and walked with him. He killed his father and Shae, he would have killed Varys too, except he needed the man to get him away from here.

In a dark haze he boarded a ship bound for Pentos, leaving Westeros and his family behind. Vowing revenge.

* * *

**Alys**

They had heard the sounds of fighting and screaming of the dying men all the way from the woods where they were camped. At first she worried that the Lannisters had snuck up on her husband and the Freys, but then Greywind had begun howling and Shiera had started crying and she knew with an iron certainty that the Lannisters were not attacking them, she could not explain how she knew, she just did. She ordered her father and his men as well as Owen Norrey to mount up their horses and ride, Greywind followed them. 

As they rode through the woods, they saw fires being lit in the camps of the northmen; they saw men with the Two Towers of House Frey killing northmen indiscriminately. Then when she saw men with the flayed man of House Bolton walk into the hall she screamed. At the same time Greywind howled. Her father and Owen Norrey had to kick her horse into moving to stop her from riding toward the Twins, they were followed though by men from the crossing. One of Lord Walder’s bastards followed them, with some 200 men. They lost them when they got into the Neck, the marshes and the woods swallowed them up and hid them from sight.

They kept riding for what seemed like days, but perhaps was only a few hours looking for the floating castle of Greywater Watch, but it was the cranongmen who found them, who brought them to the home of House Reed. It was there that they were reunited with Galbert Glover and Lady Mormont, it was there they learnt of the Red Wedding, of the treachery carried out by House Frey and House Bolton, of the death of her husband, her good mother and countless other northmen and Rivermen. It was there that they learnt of Roose Bolton being named Warden of the North; it was there that they learnt of how he and Walder Frey had conspired with Tywin Lannister to bring about the downfall of the Starks and the northmen. Throughout all of this Alys remained numb, her husband was dead, Greywind was dead, her brothers were dead- except for Harry, though he might very well soon be dead as well- the only thing that kept her sane was her daughter Shiera. Shiera was only a two months old and her father was dead, yet looking after her, protecting her, that became Alys’s main role in the time they spent in Greywater Watch, she did not pay much attention when her father and Lords Reed, Glover and Lady Mormont discussed what to do next. She vaguely recalled them talking of how Moat Cailin was weakly defended but still difficult to take, and how there was a shorter way around it to get into the north proper that Lord Howland would show them, she remembered the discussions of whether or not to go to Castle Black still or to retreat to Karhold.  Castle Black was decided upon when they learnt that Roose Bolton and his men would be marching north to deal with the Ironborn alongside men gathered together by Ramsay Snow, now Bolton.

They rode north hard and fast, and somehow with the luck of the gods managed to arrive in Castle Black with little to no trouble. They spent the journey riding during the late hours of the night and the early hours of the day, and as such it was an exhausting journey for Alys and Shiera, but they survived, and they arrived at Castle Black three weeks after she had last seen Robb alive, to find Jon Sand helping prepare the Night’s Watch for an upcoming battle with the Wildlings. Jon saw to it that they were kept safe and secure during the battle with the Thenns, and afterwards spoke to them about Robb and his will, he was reluctant to act on it with the Wildlings still to come marching on the Wall at any day, and so discussions were kept secret between Alys, her lord father, Lord Glover and Lady Mormont. She knew Jon was an honourable man, and would more than likely be torn between wanting to honour his vows to the Watch and wanting to fulfil his cousin’s last request, more so because she knew that Robb and Jon were more like brothers than cousins, Robb had told her so on many occasions.

Then the Wildlings had attacked in force, and Jon had had to command the Watch in its successful defence of the wall, only to be later arrested for crimes of desertion. He was eventually freed and sent to go and treat with Mance Rayder, but before he could do that, Stannis Baratheon brought his men from the south and destroyed the King Beyond the Walls host. After the battle, Alys had found herself, her father; Lord Glover, Lady Mormont and Jon sat in a room that had once served as accommodation for royalty, as they discussed what was to be done. By then Jon had been cleared of any wrongdoing and elections were being held to decide who the next Lord Commander should be, but Stannis wished to decide the future of the north. When presented with Robb’s will the would be king had looked at it and grimaced and then had looked at Jon and told him that if he wished he could become Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, all he would have to do was marry Alys and get children on her. Alys knew Jon was conflicted but she was relieved when he agreed to do it, she would rather it be Jon than some southerner.

Once that was sorted and out of the way, Jon as Lord of Winterfell sent out ravens to the bannermen he could trust- House Dustin, Ryswell and Umber under Hothar Umber had declared for Roose Bolton, as had Hornwood, Cerwyn and Tallhart albeit reluctantly- her father, lord Glover, Lady Mormont had bent the knee to Stannis and recognised him as the rightful king and Jon as Lord of Winterfell. Then their wedding took place a week after that, and the mountain clans came in attendance as did Mors Umber and her great uncle Arnolf Karstark. Each brought with them some hundreds of men to add to Stannis’s cause.

The day before they were due to set out for Last Hearth, Benjen Stark returned from beyond the wall bringing with him dire tidings, but no one seemed ready to pay attention to those tidings just yet, as Jon and Robb’s uncle was elected the 998TH Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.  Alys was thankful though that Stannis had decided to leave his red woman back at Castle Black; there was something about her that deeply unnerved Alys.

Relations between herself and Jon were initially strained. She was still deeply in mourning over Robb, and of course she loved Robb deeply, that was not emotion that could simply be turned off. Jon himself was grieving for his cousins, and his uncle, and countless other things as well.  Though that in itself did seem to help them both overcome their grief, as it enabled them to talk about the things that troubled them and get their burdens of their chests, and it helped she supposed that Jon and she had been friends before he had gone to take the black so he was not a complete stranger to her, nor she to him. Gradually their relationship changed from strained to one not of love, not yet, but one of fondness for one another, it helped as well that Jon seemed to completely dote on Shiera and Shiera seemed to love him.

When they reached Last Hearth, it was to the news that Roose Bolton had retaken Moat Cailin from the Ironborn with help from his bastard son and was currently making his way to Winterfell for the wedding of his bastard son to Arya Stark. That news had come as a complete shock to all of them, for they all thought Arya was dead or missing, and so they all believed that this Arya Stark was no more than an imposter, someone sent north by the Lannisters to make the Bolton’s hold on the north more secure. It was also at Last Hearth that they received word from King’s Landing of Joffrey Baratheon and Tywin Lannister’s deaths and the escape of Tyrion Lannister. The Imp was accused of killing his nephew and his father, as was Sansa, but Alys and Jon both deeply doubted that Sansa would do such a thing, something that was strengthened when a raven came from Castle Black sent from Starfall originally which wrote that Jon’s mother and Sister were safely back in Dorne along with a certain she wolf.

Then a few days later, Jon, King Stannis and her father and their men marched for Deepwood Motte to liberate it from the Ironborn, whilst she and Shiera remained in Last Hearth. The day they received the raven informing them of the liberation of Deepwood Motte, was the day Alys realised she was pregnant once more.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Vengeance Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served hot. With blood.

**Jon**

It all still felt like a dream. All of it. Since he had taken his vows in the godswood near Castle Black, everything seemed to have been happening to very quickly that he was struggling to keep up with events. Sometimes he still found it hard to believe that his uncle was dead, let alone Bran and Rickon and Robb. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that he had broken his vows and had ridden with the wildlings, had shared meat and mead with Mance Rayder and Tormund Giantsbane, that he had killed Qhorin Halfhand, that he had lain with Ygritte.  Ygritte... that was a dream that Jon did not wish to relive. She had been part of the party led by the Magnar of Thenn that had attacked Castle Black from the south. The Magnar and his band of wildlings had died easily enough, cut down by arrows, swords and boiling oil. As the sun was setting that day, Jon Sand had walked down from his place atop the wall knowing that they may have won this battle, but that Mance Rayder was marching south with a host four times as big as anything the watch could call upon. He had found Ygritte lying in a bed of blood two arrows through her chest and heart, he had cradled her head and had held her in his arms as she had died. He had been the one to burn her, on a separate pyre from those of the fallen wildlings and black brothers, his fellow brothers had given him that much space.

He had had barely anytime to grieve when a raven had come from the south, bearing news of Robb’s death, how he had been mercilessly slain at his uncle Edmure’s wedding along with Aunt Catelyn. The letter written in the hand of the Blackfish spoke of how Robb had gone to the Twins expecting to be allowed north once his uncle was married, but of how the Freys had betrayed him, and how it had been Roose Bolton who had been the one to kill Robb. Something inside Jon already broken from news of his uncle, Bran and Rickon and Ygritte’s deaths completely shattered and Jon felt such sadness and anger well up inside him. If he had had his way he would have ridden south there and then to deal with the Ironborn, to deal with the Freys, Boltons and Lannisters. He had sworn to himself that before he died all those who had hurt his family would die, and they would die by his blade.  Two days after the letter came bearing news of Robb’s death, Robb’s widow Alys Stark arrived at Castle Black with her lord father, and 50 men. With Mance Rayder and his host a day’s ride away at best; Jon had done what he could to make sure they had safe and warm rooms. The days he did not spend helping to prepare the wall for the oncoming Wildling assault, he sat and spoke with Alys and her lord father and he played with Robb’s daughter Shiera, she reminded Jon so much of Sansa that he felt something more in his heart begin to tear and break.

Then the wildlings had attacked. Giants and mammoths and free folk, the army of the wild came out in force in the pitch black. Men died, fires were little, trebuchets were loaded oil was poured and when the dawn finally came, there was still thousands of wildlings, giants and mammoths riding south toward the Wall. Donal Noye had gone to defend the passes underneath the Wall, and had not returned to the Wall. Jon held the wall through thick and thin. As Giants and Mammoths rammed the wall, Wildlings fired arrows and tried to clamber up past the wall, all died, through fire, poured oil or flame arrows, they died. When the sun came to its peak, the fighting stopped and the wildlings fled back to wherever it was Mance was camped with the rest of his host. The Night’s Watch had held for the day, they had held and Jon had never felt as relieved as he had then, when he saw Mammoths fleeing back toward wherever it was they lived, to where Mance Rayder hid.

There had not been much time for him to celebrate though, for early the next morning Ser Allister Thorne and Janos Slynt had returned from Eastwatch and Bowen Marsh had returned from the fighting on the Bridge of Skulls, and Jon had been thrown in an ice cell, arrested for desertion. Something that Thorne and Slynt had learnt from Rattleshirt, one of the wildlings Jon had ridden with on the Halfhand’s orders who had confessed to Jon’s desertion. Jon had been brought before a council of the elder sworn brothers, Maester Aemon, Bowen Marsh, Thorne and Ser Denys Mallister had all stood in trial and listened as Jon had recounted the truth, how the Halfhand had ordered him to do whatever he had to, to learn more about the wildlings and their plans and to never balk from whatever he was bid to do. When he told them how he had been ordered to kill the Halfhand and had done so, he knew that that had turned several of the sworn brothers in the room against him, but he also knew that Maester Aemon, Ser Denys and Bowen Marsh were willing to listen to what he said, and how he had come back to the Wall and warned them of the wildling attack, and upcoming invasion. Thorne and Slynt however, were desperate for his head, Jon knew that Thorne had hated him for the longest of times, and Slynt had been the one to take his uncle’s head had been the one to betray his uncle. He was put back in an ice cell after the trial, only to be brought out again and sent to treat- or assassinates- Mance Rayder, if he failed to do so he would be condemned and executed as a traitor.

Just as he had been trying to work out how to do the deed he had been sent for, stood as he was in Mance Rayder’s tent, Stannis Baratheon attacked the wildlings and took them in flank. That caused chaos amongst the ill-organised wildlings, which were still to widely spread out from their earlier attempts to take the wall. Stannis Baratheon smashed Mance Rayder’s host, and captured the King Beyond the Wall as well as several other important wildling commanders, though some of the wildlings led by Tormund Giantsbane and The Weeper fled back north, for the time being.

Jon was freed from his imprisonment, and then that evening Stannis had called a meeting between himself and the northern lords who had come with Alys from the red wedding. It was during this meeting that Jon was told by Stannis Baratheon, that if he were to marry Alys, Stannis would legitimise him and make him Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. It was something Jon could not believe, when he had been a child back in Starfall and sometimes even in Winterfell itself when he had been fostered there, he would dream of what it would have been like if his father had married his mother, and he was truly the heir to Winterfell, but often those thoughts would make him feel guilty and would hurt too much, and over time he had gradually come to accept what his place in the world was. Besides, he believed that Winterfell truly belonged to Shiera now, though Stannis had said to him there and then, that if he did not marry Alys, then she would be married off to one of Stannis’s loyal bannermen and Winterfell would no longer belong to the Starks.

That had struck a nerve, there had always been a Stark of Winterfell since the Age of Heroes, if not longer. Winterfell and the north belonged to no other family but the Starks. But Jon could not see how he could make Stannis see this without breaking his vows once more and marrying his cousin’s widow. That had been when Rickard Karstark had produced a piece of paper with the seals of several northern and Riverlords, and stated that it was Robb’s last will and testament. Stannis had taken the paper and had read it, and then had grunted and passed the paper onto Jon. The minute he set eyes on the paper he knew that it was genuine. He would recognise his cousin’s handwriting anywhere, as he read the will and its contents he felt something strange begin to stir inside of him. Robb had named him his heir, the heir to kingdom of the north and the Riverlands. Whilst that in itself had changed Jon’s perspective on Stannis’s offer- for if his cousin had named him heir as his last wish, and had asked him to protect Alys and Shiera, then Jon was honour bound to do so- it was the phrase that he used to finish the Will that really made Jon stop and think. _The hammer will soon be striking the anvil._ He had not seen nor heard that phrase in years, not since before the king had come to Winterfell; it had become a family saying in Winterfell just as Winter is Coming were the words of House Stark. He looked at those words written on the paper in Robb’s hand, and he knew then that he had to accept Stannis’s offer, not only because there should always be a Stark in Winterfell, but because he needed to protect his cousin’s widow and daughter now, more so than ever.

And so Jon Sand had been freed from his oaths to the Night’s Watch, which had been made under the threat of something much worse from the Lannister Queen, and had bent the knee along with the Northern Lords that had come with Alys, and had risen Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He had married Alys three days later in a ceremony held in the godswood in front of Castle Black. Lord Karstark, Lord Glover, Lady Mormont, The Liddle, The Wull, and The Norrey were all present for the wedding. Once the wedding and the bedding was done with, Jon found himself spending more and more time in council meetings with Stannis and the lords who were now his bannermen. He knew that he would need to prove himself to them, they had fought and bled beside Robb, had seen Robb go from being a boy to a king, he would need to prove himself worthy of their loyalty, just as his uncle had and Robb had.

Stannis had wanted to march straight for the Dreadfort, and Lord Karstark had been in favour of doing so as well. But Jon and Lord Glover had argued against doing so. The Dreadfort had once survived a siege for three years when a King ruled from Winterfell, armies would smash themselves to bits on the castle’s strong and thick walls. No it would be better to march west to Deepwood Motte and drive out the Ironborn there, better to win the rest of the north’s loyalty. It was whilst they were in Castle Black discussing what to do, that they received a raven from Mors Umber, the man’s brother had declared for Roose Bolton, simply because the Freys still held the Greatjon, but Mors assured Jon- for the letter had been written to Jon, not Stannis- that Hothar Umber was still loyal to the Starks, and would do all he could to undermine Roose Bolton. Mors opened the gates of Last Hearth to Jon and Stannis and their men, and so they made plans to march south for Last Hearth.

But before they could do so, Jon’s uncle Benjen had returned from the north. He had been gone for two years, had gotten lost in the Land of Always Winter and had reported dangerous and worrying tidings from the north. It had pained Jon to tell his uncle about what had happened to their family since he had been gone. The look of sheer pain that crossed his uncle’s face as he told him of Uncle Ned, Robb, Aunt Catelyn and Bran and Rickon’s deaths broke Jon up once more. Benjen had agreed that it was right for Jon to take up Robb’s place and defend the north from the Lannisters and the Boltons. His uncle had been elected Lord Commander before Jon had left for Last Hearth.

 

Throughout all this though, Jon always made sure that Alys- his wife now- was well looked after and that she and Shiera were cared for and wanted for nothing. It helped he supposed that they had been friends before he had taken the black. It made it easier to speak with her about his worries and his concerns. One of which included Stannis and his red woman, and her devotion to this Red God. After the battle for Castle Black, several wildlings had been burned alive, including Mance Rayder. Jon had done one last act as a brother of the Night’s Watch he had sent Sam, Maester Aemon, Gilly and Mance Rayder’s actual babe south on a ship bound for Oldtown, he would not have a child be burnt for some sacrifice. The red woman believed Stannis to be a hero of legend, and whilst Jon was happy for her to go about spouting these claims, he would not let her try and change the religion that the North worshipped. The Andals had tried to invade the north and change it, and had been kicked out, and Jon knew that should Stannis begin burning the weirwood trees in the North, he would lose their support and Jon had no intention of allowing the weirwoods or the godswoods to be burnt.

They arrived in Last Hearth as the snows were beginning to fall properly, heralding the end of autumn and the beginning of winter. The Mountain clans had brought between them some 2000 men; Lady Mormont assured them that her daughter Alysanne would bring with her 500 men and women to Deepwood Motte. Mors Umber had with him some 1000 men though most were green boys- it felt odd calling them that when Jon himself had only been involved in two real battles- Lord Rickard assured them that his uncle Arnolf would bring the remaining men from Karhold with him when they marched on Winterfell. Last Hearth brought with it more dire news, for Mors Umber told them that Ramsay Snow- Bolton’s bastard- was marrying Arya Stark. Jon was convinced that it was not the real Arya, but all the same he could not help the feeling of sorrow and anger that engulfed him. He knew then that they would need to take Deepwood Motte and soon before Bolton’s bastard could get Arya pregnant- if it were actually her- And so they marched.

They marched through the Wolfswood during the night, through the snow that was becoming ever thicker and caught the Ironborn as they tried to flee back to their longships. It was a fierce fight, but it was short. The Ironborn were disorganized and lacked discipline, it was every man for him. Jon hacked and slashed through the Ironborn, painting the ground red with their blood. Each man he killed was a mark of revenge and justice for Bran and Rickon. Eventually the Ironborn surrendered, and their leader Asha Greyjoy, Theon’s sister was taken prisoner along with several other Ironborn. Alysanne Mormont and her bears from Bear Island had burnt the Ironborn’s ships to smithereens and those that tried to flee were slain in the wood.

Deepwood Motte was liberated from the Ironborn, and the Northmen began to rally even further to Stannis’s side. There was some feasting and celebrating in the Motte after the victory, but it was not too over the top, for Winterfell still stood in Bolton hands, and so long as it did the north would never be rid of the Lannisters and their lackeys. Good news came through in the form of a coded letter from Hothar Umber to his brother. Mors read that there was tension amongst the northmen in Winterfell. Bolton’s hold on their allegiance was fragile at best, many were angry with the man for siding with the Freys because of the red wedding, and because of the atrocities that his bastard had committed in the past. Of Arya there was little mentioned except that the Bastard of Bolton had wed her and bedded her. Alys also sent a letter stating that she and Shiera were doing well in Last Hearth and that she was with child. Jon had been surprised at that, they had only lain together twice since their marriage- the day of their wedding, and the night before he rode off for war- he had not wished to do anything to soon because of what had happened with Robb. He saw his wife more as a friend and confidant than as a lover, but he was happy nonetheless it was something he had always dreamed of, having a wife and a family to love.

Once the celebrations were ended, they began planning how to take Winterfell. Here was where Jon truly felt useful, he had spent six years in Winterfell and had gotten to know it very, very well during that time, mainly because Robb and Uncle Ned had allowed him to. SO it was that he advised Stannis. “It would not do to go for a direct attack, or siege of Winterfell. No matter if the castle is burnt and a ruin of a former glory. It will stand a siege for time that we do not have Your Grace. Roose Bolton is too cautious a man to draw out into open battle. So you must make him curious. I would send out scouts here, (he pointed to the Crofter’s Village) and here (he pointed to the Tumbledown tower) send them waiving your banner, and the man’s own scouts will capture them and draw Bolton out. Then I would send a man, just one not more to the gates of Winterfell where he could be captured. Have that man report that you are in the Crofter’s Village. Roose Bolton will begin to panic. If his control over the men is as lax as Whorsebane says it is, he will want to separate them, he will send his bastard out to deal with you. Keep the main body of your host camped in the middle of the Wolfswood, and have your scouts in the Crofter’s Village lead Ramsay Snow to you, then bring the men from the Tumbledown back and have men situated behind the trees, Ramsay Snow will walk into butchery.”

The northern lords agreed to the plan as did Stannis, and so they marched. Winter was coming for House Bolton and House Frey, and when it came and went, they would not be alive; Jon would make sure of that.

* * *

**Jaime**

It had been a long and tiring journey back to King’s Landing. Lady Catelyn had freed him, and then her brother had sent riders after himself, Brienne and his cousin Cleos. The riders had missed them, but the Brave Companions had not. Vargo Hoat and his men had killed Cleos and then had been about to rape Brienne, when Jaime had got involved. His words had cost him his left hand, not his sword hand no, but it had still made him a cripple. He had been brought before Roose Bolton and Bolton had discussed various things, such as the northern attack on Duskendale, the Lannister-Tyrell alliance and the fall of Winterfell. He had then discussed what he was to do with Jaime, considering that a bounty had been put on his head by Robb Stark, who was Bolton’s king. Bolton had said that a good lord would return the Kingslayer to his king and get the rewards, but then he had said, but how was said king to give the reward when he was without a kingdom, and besides there was three kings in the realm and which one was the one that would benefit him the most. Eventually Bolton had sent him on his way back to King’s Landing with his maester Qyburn and some of his men. He had deigned to leave Brienne behind though, for the Goats entertainment.

Something about that had sat poorly with Jaime, he knew not what it was even now. Perhaps it had something to with this new perspective he had gained from losing his hand, but like a fool he had gone back to Harrenhal and had rescued Brienne and had brought her with him to King’s Landing. No one recognised him when he entered the city gates, he had cut his hair and had a scraggly beard, and so he had managed to go by relatively unnoticed in the streets. Brienne had not. But Jaime had managed to smooth talk both of their ways through the city relatively unscathed and had even managed to bring himself to his sister’s rooms, expecting to be reunited with her passionately. Instead he heard the sounds of her being pleasured, curious he had opened the door by just a fraction and had found some brute of a man pounding away on her as she writhed and moaned in pleasure. He had felt such anger then, and had he been the man he had been before the war had started he would have walked right in then and there and cut the man off his sister before burying his sword in the man’s throat. But he was not that man anymore; he had merely closed the door quietly behind him and walked on to find his father.

His father had looked at him with something akin to horror and then relief when he realised that it was not Jaime’s sword hand that was missing. His father had told him there and then about Joffrey’s death and how Cersei was accusing Tyrion of doing the deed. When he asked his father if he believed her, Lord Tywin said nothing merely stared at Jaime with a piercing look. His father then proceeded to give him a Valyrian steel sword made out of Ned Stark’s own blade Ice and also asked him once more to resign from the Kingsguard and assume his position as heir to Casterly Rock. He had been unsure how to answer, at one point in time he knew he would have argued with his father about doing such a thing, he would have wanted to stay in the Kingsguard, stay near Cersei. But after seeing her with that brute of a man, and clearly enjoying herself he was not so sure. He asked his father time to consider the offer before he made his decision. And surprisingly his father consented.

He then spent the next few days at Tyrion’s trial and gathering what information he could about the events of Joffrey’s death and Sansa Stark’s suspicious disappearance. No one knew where she could have gone to, though some of the servants and the minor nobles of the court, no doubt keen to get better acquainted with the Kingslayer and perhaps earn his favour, told him that they had seen the Stark girl spending an unusual amount of time with the Dornishmen. That did not surprise Jaime, he knew that the Stark Girl had a Dornish cousin- a bastard- but still a cousin, who was a girl, whom if he remembered correctly had been the reason Jon Sand had been sent to the Wall because he had beaten Joffrey to an inch of his life for insulting said girl. He thought nothing of it, and when Tyrion was pronounced guilty during his trial by combat because all thought that Prince Oberyn was dead, Jaime could not stand by and let his little brother be killed. He had pressured Varys into freeing his brother, and then like a fool had told him about Tysha, and Tyrion had reacted as Jaime had feared he would do all those years ago, and then had told him that Cersei had been fucking Lancel, the Kettleblacks and Moonboy. Before leaving.

The next day Lord Tywin was found dead, an arrow through his stomach, a whore strangled to death in his bed. Tyrion was responsible for the deed, Jaime knew and yet he could not bring himself to tell his sister that he had been the one to free Tyrion, and therefore was indirectly responsible for their father’s death. No instead he led several fruitless searches of the black cells for Tyrion and even more to find Varys, the spider who had wisely disappeared into the ether after that night and had not been seen since.  Something had changed between Jaime and Cersei as well. He no longer lusted or longed for her as he did in the past, something about seeing her with another man and moaning in pleasure had broken him, he refused all of her advances and refused her offer to become Tommem’s hand and instead suggested that she make their uncle Kevan hand or perhaps even Randyll Tarly. She rebuked his suggestions and called him a fool.

It was nearly a relief when she sent him off to Riverrun to lift the siege there.

_The brooch that fastened Ser Brynden Tully's cloak was a black fish, wrought in jet and gold. His ringmail was grim and grey. Over it he wore greaves, gorget, gauntlets, pauldron, and poleyns of blackened steel, none half so dark as the look upon his face as he waited for Jaime Lannister at the end of the drawbridge, alone atop a chestnut courser caparisoned in red and blue._

_He loves me not. Tully had a craggy face, deeply lined and windburnt beneath a shock of stiff grey hair, but Jaime could still see the great knight who had once enthralled a squire with tales of the Ninepenny Kings. Honor's hooves clattered against the planks of the drawbridge. Jaime had thought long and hard about whether to wear his gold armor or his white to this meeting; in the end, he'd chosen a leather jack and a crimson cloak._

_He drew up a yard from Ser Brynden, and inclined his head to the older man. "Kingslayer," said Tully._

_That he would make that name the first word from his mouth spoke volumes, but Jaime was resolved to keep his temper. "Blackfish," he responded. "Thank you for coming."_

_"I assume you have returned to fulfill the oaths you swore my niece," Ser Brynden said. "As I recall, you promised Catelyn her daughters in return for your freedom." His mouth tightened. "Yet I do not see the girls. Where are they?"_

_Must he make me say it? "I do not have them."_

_"Pity. Do you wish to resume your captivity? Your old cell is still available. We have put fresh rushes on the floor."_

_And a nice new pail for me to shit in, I don't doubt. "That was thoughtful of you, ser, but I fear I must decline. I prefer the comforts of my pavilion."_

_"Whilst Catelyn enjoys the comforts of her grave."_

_I had no hand in Lady Catelyn's death, he might have said, and her daughters were gone before I reached King's Landing. It was on his tongue to speak of Brienne and the sword he'd given her, but the Blackfish was looking at him the way that Eddard Stark had looked at him when he'd found him on the Iron Throne with the Mad King's blood upon his blade. "I came to speak of the living, not the dead. Of those who need not die, but shall . . ."_

_". . . unless I hand you Riverrun. Is this where you threaten to hang Edmure?" Beneath his bushy brows, Tully's eyes were stone. "My nephew is marked for death no matter what I do. So hang him and be done with it. I expect that Edmure is as weary of standing on those gallows as I am of seeing him there."_

_Ryman Frey is a bloody fool. His mummer's show with Edmure and the gallows had only made the Blackfish more obdurate, that was plain. "You hold Lady Sybelle Westerling and three of her children. I'll return your nephew in exchange for them."_

_"As you returned Lady Catelyn's daughters?"_

_Jaime did not allow himself to be provoked. "An old woman and three children for your liege lord. That's a better bargain than you could have hoped for."_

_Ser Brynden smiled a hard smile. "You do not lack for gall, Kingslayer. Bargaining with oathbreakers is like building on quicksand, though. Cat should have known better than to trust the likes of you."_

_It was Tyrion she trusted in, Jaime almost said. The Imp deceived her too. "The promises I made to Lady Catelyn were wrung from me at swordpoint."_

_"And the oath you swore to Aerys?"_

_He felt his phantom fingers twitching. "Aerys is no part of this. Will you exchange the Westerlings for Edmure?"_

_"No. My king entrusted Lady Jeyne to my keeping, and I swore to keep her safe. I will not hand her over to a Frey noose."_

_"The girl has been pardoned. No harm will come to her. You have my word on that."_

_"Your word of honour?" Ser Brynden raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what honour is?"_

_A horse. "I will swear any oath that you require."_

_"Spare me, Kingslayer."_

_"I want to. Strike your banners and open your gates and I'll grant your men their lives. Those who wish to remain at Riverrun in service to Lord Emmon may do so. The rest shall be free to go where they will, though I will require them to surrender their arms and armour."_

_"I wonder, how far will they get, unarmed, before ‘outlaws' set upon them? You dare not allow them to join Lord Beric, we both know that. And what of me? Will I be paraded through King's Landing to die like Eddard Stark?"_

_"I will permit you to take the black. Ned Stark's brother is the Lord Commander on the Wall."_

_The Blackfish narrowed his eyes. “Thank you but no. I would rather die with lion blood on my sword than take the black.”_

_"Tully blood runs just as red," Jaime reminded him. "If you will not yield the castle, I must storm it. Hundreds will die."_

_"Hundreds of mine. Thousands of yours."_

_"Your garrison will perish to a man."_

_"I know that song. Do you sing it to the tune of ‘The Rains of Castamere'? My men would sooner die upon their feet fighting than on their knees beneath a headsman's axe."_

_This is not going well. "This defiance serves no purpose, ser. The war is done, and your Young Wolf is dead."_

_"Murdered in breach of all the sacred laws of hospitality."_

_"Frey's work, not mine."_

_"Call it what you will. It stinks of Tywin Lannister."_

_Jaime could not deny that. "My father is dead as well."_

_"May the Father judge him justly."_

_Now, there's an awful prospect. "I would have slain Robb Stark in the Whispering Wood, if I could have reached him. Some fools got in my way. Does it matter how the boy perished? He's no less dead, and his kingdom died when he did."_

_"You must be blind as well as maimed, ser. Lift your eyes, and you will see that the direwolf still flies above our walls."_

_"I've seen him. He looks lonely. Harrenhal has fallen. Seagard and Maidenpool. The Brackens have bent the knee, and they've got Tytos Blackwood penned up in Raventree. Piper, Vance, Mooton, all your bannermen have yielded. Only Riverrun remains. We have twenty times your numbers."_

_"Twenty times the men require twenty times the food. How well are you provisioned, my lord?"_

_"Well enough to sit here till the end of days if need be, whilst you starve inside your walls." He told the lie as boldly as he could and hoped his face did not betray him._

_The Blackfish was not deceived. "The end of your days, perhaps. Our own supplies are ample, though I fear we did not leave much in the fields for visitors."_

_"We can bring food down from the Twins," said Jaime, "or over the hills from the west, if it comes to that."_

_"If you say so. Far be it from me to question the word of such an honorable knight."_

_The scorn in his voice made Jaime bristle. "There is a quicker way to decide the matter. A single combat. My champion against yours."_

_"I was wondering when you would get to that." Ser Brynden laughed. "Who will it be? Strongboar? Addam Marbrand? Black Walder Frey?" He leaned forward. "Why not you and me, ser?"_

_That would have been a sweet fight once, Jaime thought, fine fodder for the singers. "When Lady Catelyn freed me, she made me swear not to take arms again against the Starks or Tullys."_

_"A most convenient oath, ser."_

_His face darkened. "Are you calling me a coward?"_

_"No. I am calling you a cripple." The Blackfish nodded at Jaime's golden hand. "We both know you cannot fight with that."_

_"I had two hands." Would you throw your life away for pride? a voice inside him whispered. "Some might say a cripple and an old man are well matched. Free me from my vow to Lady Catelyn and I will meet you sword to sword. If I win, Riverrun is ours. If you slay me, we'll lift the siege."_

_Ser Brynden laughed again. "Much as I would welcome the chance to take that golden sword away from you and cut out your black heart, your promises are worthless. I would gain nothing from your death but the pleasure of killing you, and I will not risk my own life for that . . . as small a risk as that may be."_

_It was a good thing that Jaime wore no sword; elsewise he would have ripped his blade out, and if Ser Brynden did not slay him, the archers on the walls most surely would. "Are there any terms you will accept?" he demanded of the Blackfish._

_"From you?" Ser Brynden shrugged. "No."_

_"Why did you even come to treat with me?"_

_"A siege is deadly dull. I wanted to see this stump of yours and hear whatever excuses you cared to offer up for your latest enormities. They were feebler than I'd hoped. You always disappoint, Kingslayer." The Blackfish wheeled his mare and trotted back toward Riverrun. The portcullis descended with a rush, its iron spikes biting deep into the muddy ground._

_Jaime turned Honor's head about for the long ride back to the Lannister siege lines. He could feel the eyes on him; the Tully men upon their battlements, the Freys across the river. If they are not blind, they'll all know he threw my offer in my teeth. He would need to storm the castle. Well, what's one more broken vow to the Kingslayer? Just more shit in the bucket. Jaime resolved to be the first man on the battlements. And with this golden hand of mine, most like the first to fall._

_Back at camp, Little Lew held his bridle whilst Peck gave him a hand down from the saddle. Do they think I'm such a cripple that I cannot dismount by myself? "How did you fare, my lord?" asked his cousin Ser Daven._

_"No one put an arrow in my horse's rump. Elsewise, there was little to distinguish me from Ser Ryman." He grimaced. "So now he must needs turn the Red Fork redder." Blame yourself for that, Blackfish. You left me little choice. "Assemble a war council. Ser Addam, Strongboar, Forley Prester, those river lords of ours . . . and our friends of Frey. Ser Ryman, Lord Emmon, whoever else they care to bring."_

_They gathered quickly. Lord Piper and both Lords Vance came to speak for the repentant lords of the Trident, whose loyalties would shortly be put to the test. The west was represented by Ser Daven, Strongboar, Addam Marbrand, and Forley Prester. Lord Emmon Frey joined them, with his wife. Lady Genna claimed her stool with a look that dared any man there to question her presence. None did. The Freys sent Ser Walder Rivers, called "Bastard Walder," and Ser Ryman's firstborn Edwyn, a pallid, slender man with a pinched nose and lank dark hair. Under a blue lambswool cloak, Edwyn wore a jerkin of finely tooled grey calfskin with ornate scrollwork worked into the leather. "I speak for House Frey," he announced. "My father is indisposed this morning."_

_Ser Daven gave a snort. "Is he drunk, or just greensick from last night's wine?"_

_Edwyn had the hard mean mouth of a miser. "Lord Jaime," he said, "must I suffer such discourtesy?"_

_"Is it true?" Jaime asked him. "Is your father drunk?"_

_Frey pressed his lips together and eyed Ser Ilyn Payne, who was standing beside by the tent flap in his rusted mail, his sword poking up above one bony shoulder. "He . . . my father has a bad belly, my lord. Red wine helps with his digestion."_

_"He must be digesting a bloody mammoth," said Ser Daven. Strongboar laughed, and Lady Genna chuckled._

_"Enough," said Jaime. "We have a castle to win." When his father sat in council, he let his captains speak first. He was resolved to do the same. "How shall we proceed?"_

_"Hang Edmure Tully, for a start," urged Lord Emmon Frey. "That will teach Ser Brynden that we mean what we say. If we send Ser Edmure's head to his uncle, it may move him to yield."_

_"Brynden Blackfish is not moved so easily." Karyl Vance, the Lord of Wayfarer's Rest, had a melancholy look. A winestain birthmark covered half his neck and one side of his face. "His own brother could not move him to a marriage bed."_

_Ser Daven shook his shaggy head. "We have to storm the walls, as I've been saying all along. Siege towers, scaling ladders, a ram to break the gate, that's what's needed here."_

_"I will lead the assault," said Strongboar. "Give the fish a taste of steel and fire, that's what I say."_

_"They are my walls," protested Lord Emmon, "and that is my gate you would break." He drew his parchment out of his sleeve again. "King Tommen himself has granted me—"_

_"We've all seen your paper, nuncle," snapped Edwyn Frey. "Why don't you go wave it at the Blackfish for a change?"_

_"Storming the walls will be a bloody business," said Addam Marbrand. "I propose we wait for a moonless night and send a dozen picked men across the river in a boat with muffled oars. They can scale the walls with ropes and grapnels, and open the gates from the inside. I will lead them, if the council wishes."_

_"Folly," declared the bastard, Walder Rivers. "Ser Brynden is no man to be cozened by such tricks."_

_"The Blackfish is the obstacle," agreed Edwyn Frey. "His helm bears a black trout on its crest that makes him easy to pick out from afar. I propose that we move our siege towers close, fill them full of bowmen, and feign an attack upon the gates. That will bring Ser Brynden to the battlements, crest and all. Let every archer smear his shafts with night soil, and make that crest his mark. Once Ser Brynden dies, Riverrun is ours."_

_"Mine," piped Lord Emmon. "Riverrun is mine."_

_Lord Karyl's birthmark darkened. "Will the night soil be your own contribution, Edwyn? A mortal poison, I don't doubt."_

_"The Blackfish deserves a nobler death, and I'm the man to give it to him." Strongboar thumped his fist on the table. "I will challenge him to single combat. Mace or axe or longsword, makes no matter. The old man will be my meat."_

_"Why would he deign to accept your challenge, ser?" asked Ser Forley Prester. "What could he gain from such a duel? Will we lift the siege if he should win? I do not believe that. Nor will he. A single combat would accomplish nought."_

_"I have known Brynden Tully since we were squires together, in service to Lord Darry," said Norbert Vance, the blind Lord of Atranta. "If it please my lords, let me go and speak with him and try to make him understand the hopelessness of his position."_

_"He understands that well enough," said Lord Piper. He was a short, rotund, bowlegged man with a bush of wild red hair, the father of one of Jaime's squires; the resemblance to the boy was unmistakeable. "The man's not bloody stupid, Norbert. He has eyes . . . and too much sense to yield to such as these." He made a rude gesture in the direction of Edwyn Frey and Walder Rivers._

_Edwyn bristled. "If my lord of Piper means to imply—"_

_"I don't imply, Frey. I say what I mean straight out, like an honest man. But what would you know of the ways of honest men? You're a treacherous lying weasel, like all your kin. I'd sooner drink a pint of piss than take the word of any Frey." He leaned across the table. "Where is Marq, answer me that? What have you done with my son? He was a guest at your bloody wedding."_

_"And our honored guest he shall remain," said Edwyn, "until you prove your loyalty to His Grace, King Tommen."_

_"Five knights and twenty men-at-arms went with Marq to the Twins," said Piper. "Are they your guests as well, Frey?"_

_"Some of the knights, perhaps. The others were served no more than they deserved. You'd do well to guard your traitor's tongue, Piper, unless you want your heir returned in pieces."_

_My father's councils never went like this, Jaime thought, as Piper came lurching to his feet. "Say that with a sword in your hand, Frey," the small man snarled. "Or do you only fight with smears of shit?"_

_Frey's pinched face went pale. Beside him Walder Rivers rose. "Edwyn is no man of the sword . . . but I am, Piper. If you have more remarks to make, come outside and make them."_

_"This is a war council, not a war," Jaime reminded them. "Sit down, the both of you." Neither man moved. "Now!"_

_Walder Rivers seated himself. Lord Piper was not so easy to cow. He muttered a curse and strode from the tent. "Shall I send men after him to drag him back, my lord?" Ser Daven asked Jaime._

_"Send Ser Ilyn," urged Edywn Frey. "We only need his head."_

_Karyl Vance turned to Jaime. "Lord Piper spoke from grief. Marq is his firstborn son. Those knights who accompanied him to the Twins were nephews and cousins all."_

_"Traitors and rebels all, you mean," said Edwyn Frey._

_Jaime gave him a cold look. "The Twins took up the Young Wolf's cause as well," he reminded the Freys. "Then you betrayed him. That makes you twice as treacherous as Piper." He enjoyed seeing Edwyn's thin smile curdle up and die. I have endured sufficient counsel for one day, he decided. "We're done. See to your preparations, my lords. We attack at first light."_

_The wind was blowing from the north as the lords filed from the tent. Jaime could smell the stink of the Frey encampments beyond the Tumblestone. Across the water Edmure Tully stood forlorn atop the tall grey gallows, with a rope around his neck._

_His aunt departed last, her husband at her heels. "Lord nephew," Emmon protested, "this assault on my seat . . . you must not do this." When he swallowed, the apple in his throat moved up and down. "You must not. I . . . I forbid it." He had been chewing sourleaf again; pinkish froth glistened on his lips. "The castle is mine, I have the parchment. Signed by the king, by little Tommen. I am the lawful lord of Riverrun, and . . ."_

_"Not so long as Edmure Tully lives," said Lady Genna. "He is soft of heart and soft of head, I know, but alive, the man is still a danger. What do you mean to do about that, Jaime?"_

_It's the Blackfish who is the danger, not Edmure. "Leave Edmure to me. Ser Lyle, Ser Ilyn. Attend me, if you would. It's time I paid a visit to those gallows."_

_The Tumblestone was deeper and swifter than the Red Fork, and the nearest ford was leagues upstream. The ferry had just started across with Walder Rivers and Edwyn Frey when Jaime and his men arrived at the river. As they awaited its return, Jaime told them what he wanted. Ser Ilyn spat into the river._

_When the three of them stepped off the ferry on the north bank, a drunken camp follower offered to pleasure Strongboar with her mouth. "Here, pleasure my friend," Ser Lyle said, shoving her toward Ser Ilyn. Laughing, the woman moved to kiss Payne on the lips, then saw his eyes and shrank away._

_The paths between the cookfires were raw brown mud, mixed with horse dung and torn up by hooves and boots alike. Everywhere Jaime saw the twin towers of House Frey displayed on shield and banners, blue on grey, along with the arms of lesser Houses sworn to the Crossing: the heron of Erenford, the pitchfork of Haigh, Lord Charlton's three sprigs of mistletoe. The arrival of the Kingslayer did not go unnoticed. An old woman selling piglets from a basket stopped to stare at him, a knight with a half-familiar face went to one knee, and two men-at-arms pissing in a ditch turned and sprayed each other. "Ser Jaime," someone called after him, but he strode on without turning. Around him he glimpsed the faces of men he'd done his best to kill in the Whispering Wood, where the Freys had fought beneath the direwolf banners of Robb Stark. His golden hand hung heavy at his side._

_Ryman Frey's great rectangular pavilion was the largest in the camp; its grey canvas walls were made of sewn squares to resemble stonework, and its two peaks evoked the Twins. Far from being indisposed, Ser Ryman was enjoying some entertainment. The sound of a woman's drunken laughter drifted from within the tent, mingled with the strains of a woodharp and a singer's voice. I will deal with you later, ser, Jaime thought. Walder Rivers stood before his own modest tent, talking with two men-at-arms. His shield bore the arms of House Frey with the colors reversed, and a red bend sinister across the towers. When the bastard saw Jaime, he frowned. There's a cold suspicious look if ever I saw one. That one is more dangerous than any of his trueborn brothers._

_The gallows had been raised ten feet off the ground. Two spearmen were posted at the foot of the steps. "You can't go up without Ser Ryman's leave," one told Jaime._

_"This says I can." Jaime tapped his sword hilt with a finger. "The question is, will I need to step over your corpse?"_

_The spearmen moved aside._

_Atop the gallows, the Lord of Riverrun stood staring at the trap beneath him. His feet were black and caked with mud, his legs bare. Edmure wore a soiled silken tunic striped in Tully red and blue, and a noose of hempen rope. At the sound of Jaime's footsteps, he raised his head and licked his dry, cracked lips. "Kingslayer?" The sight of Ser Ilyn widened his eyes. "Better a sword than a rope. Do it, Payne."_

_"Ser Ilyn," said Jaime. "You heard Lord Tully. Do it."_

_The silent knight gripped his greatsword with both hands. Long and heavy it was, sharp as common steel could be. Edmure's cracked lips moved soundlessly. As Ser Ilyn drew the blade back, he closed his eyes. The stroke had all Payne's weight behind it._

_"No! Stop. NO!" Edwyn Frey came panting into view. "My father comes. Fast as he can. Jaime, you must . . ."_

_"My lord would suit me better, Frey," said Jaime. "And you would do well to omit must from any speech directed at me."_

_Ser Ryman came stomping up the gallows steps in company with a straw-haired slattern as drunk as he was. Her gown laced up the front, but someone had undone the laces to the navel, so her breasts were spilling out. They were large and heavy, with big brown nipples. On her head a circlet of hammered bronze sat askew, graven with runes and ringed with small black swords. When she saw Jaime, she laughed. "Who in seven hells is this one?"_

_"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Jaime returned with cold courtesy. "I might ask the same of you, my lady."_

_"Lady? I'm no lady. I'm the queen."_

_"My sister will be surprised to hear that."_

_"Lord Ryman crowned me his very self." She gave a shake of her ample hips. "I'm the queen o' whores."_

_No, Jaime thought, my sweet sister holds that title too._

_Ser Ryman found his tongue. "Shut your mouth, slut, Lord Jaime doesn't want to hear some harlot's nonsense." This Frey was a thickset man with a broad face, small eyes, and a soft fleshy set of chins. His breath stank of wine and onions._

_"Making queens, Ser Ryman?" Jaime asked softly. "Stupid. As stupid as this business with Lord Edmure."_

_"I gave the Blackfish warning. I told him Edmure would die unless the castle yielded. I had this gallows built, to show them that Ser Ryman Frey does not make idle threats. At Seagard my son Walder did the same with Patrek Mallister and Lord Jason bent the knee, but . . . the Blackfish is a cold man. He refused us, so . . ."_

_". . . you hanged Lord Edmure?"_

_The man reddened. "My lord grandfather . . . if we hang the man we have no hostage, ser. Have you considered that?"_

_"Only a fool makes threats he's not prepared to carry out. If I were to threaten to hit you unless you shut your mouth, and you presumed to speak, what do you think I'd do?"_

_"Ser, you do not unders—"_

_Jaime hit him. It was a backhand blow delivered with his golden hand, but the force of it sent Ser Ryman stumbling backward into the arms of his whore. "You have a fat head, Ser Ryman, and a thick neck as well. Ser Ilyn, how many strokes would it take you to cut through that neck?"_

_Ser Ilyn laid a single finger against his nose._

_Jaime laughed. "An empty boast. I say three."_

_Ryman Frey went to his knees. "I have done nothing . . ."_

_". . . but drink and whore. I know."_

_"I am heir to the Crossing. You can't . . ."_

_"I warned you about talking." Jaime watched the man turn white. A sot, a fool, and a craven. Lord Walder had best outlive this one, or the Freys are done. "You are dismissed, ser."_

_"Dismissed?"_

_"You heard me. Go away."_

_"But . . . where should I go?"_

_"To hell or home, as you prefer. See that you are not in camp when the sun comes up. You may take your queen of whores, but not that crown of hers." Jaime turned from Ser Ryman to his son. "Edwyn, I am giving you your father's command. Try not to be so stupid as your sire."_

_"That ought not pose much difficulty, my lord."_

_"Send word to Lord Walder. The crown requires all his prisoners." Jaime waved his golden hand. "Ser Lyle, bring him."_

_Edmure Tully had collapsed facedown on the scaffold when Ser Ilyn's blade sheared the rope in two. A foot of hemp still dangled from the noose about his neck. Strongboar grabbed the end of it and pulled him to his feet. "A fish on a leash," he said, chortling. "There's a sight I never saw before."_

_The Freys stepped aside to let them pass. A crowd had gathered below the scaffold, including a dozen camp followers in various states of disarray. Jaime noticed one man holding a woodharp. "You. Singer. Come with me."_

_The man doffed his hat. "As my lord commands."_

_No one said a word as they walked back to the ferry, with Ser Ryman's singer trailing after them. But as they shoved off from the riverbank and made for the south side of the Tumblestone, Edmure Tully grabbed Jaime by the arm. "Why?"_

_A Lannister pays his debts, he thought, and you're the only coin that's left to me. "Consider it a wedding gift."_

_Edmure stared at him with wary eyes. "A . . . wedding gift?"_

_"I am told your wife is pretty. She'd have to be, for you to bed her while your sister and your king were being murdered."_

_"I never knew." Edmure licked his cracked lips. "There were fiddlers outside the bedchamber . . ."_

_"And Lady Roslin was distracting you."_

_"She . . . they made her do it, Lord Walder and the rest. Roslin never wanted . . . she wept, but I thought it was . . ."_

_"The sight of your rampant manhood? Aye, that would make any woman weep, I'm sure."_

_"She is carrying my child."_

_No, Jaime thought, that's your death she has growing in her belly. Back at his pavilion, he dismissed Strongboar and Ser Ilyn, but not the singer. "I may have need of a song shortly," he told the man. "Lew, heat some bathwater for my guest. Pia, find him some clean clothing. Nothing with lions on it, if you please. Peck, wine for Lord Tully. Are you hungry, my lord?"_

_Edmure nodded, but his eyes were still suspicious._

_Jaime settled on a stool while Tully had his bath. The filth came off in grey clouds. "Once you've eaten, my men will escort you to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Your uncle is an old man. Valiant, yes, but the best part of his life is done. He has no bride to grieve for him, no children to defend. A good death is all the Blackfish can hope for . . . but you have years remaining, Edmure. And you are the rightful lord of House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves at your pleasure. The fate of Riverrun is in your hands."_

_Edmure stared. "The fate of Riverrun . . ."_

_"Yield the castle and no one dies. Your smallfolk may go in peace or stay to serve Lord Emmon. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black, along with as many of the garrison as choose to join him. You as well, if the Wall appeals to you. Or you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. I'll send your wife to join you, if you like. If her child is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a page and a squire, and when he earns his knighthood we'll bestow some lands upon him. Should Roslin give you a daughter, I'll see her well dowered when she's old enough to wed. You yourself may even be granted parole, once the war is done. All you need do is yield the castle."_

_Edmure raised his hands from the tub and watched the water run between his fingers. "And if I will not yield?"_

_Must you make me say the words? Pia was standing by the flap of the tent with her arms full of clothes. His squires were listening as well, and the singer. Let them hear, Jaime thought. Let the world hear. It makes no matter. He forced himself to smile, "You've seen our numbers, Edmure. You've seen the ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my coz will bridge your moat and break your gate. Hundreds will die, most of them your own. Your former bannermen will make up the first wave of attackers, so you'll start your day by killing the fathers and brothers of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, I have no lack of those. My westermen will follow when your archers are short of arrows and your knights so weary they can hardly lift their blades. When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, and pert the Tumblestone over the ruins. By the time I'm done no man will ever know that a castle once stood here." Jaime got to his feet. "Your wife may whelp before that. You'll want your child, I expect. I'll send him to you when he's born. With a trebuchet."_

_Silence followed his speech. Edmure sat in his bath. Pia clutched the clothing to her breasts. The singer tightened a string on his harp. Little Lew hollowed out a loaf of stale bread to make a trencher, pretending that he had not heard. With a trebuchet, Jaime thought. If his aunt had been there, would she still say Tyrion was Tywin's son?_

_Edmure Tully finally found his voice. "I could climb out of this tub and kill you where you stand, Kingslayer."_

_"You could try." Jaime waited. When Edmure made no move to rise, he said, "I'll leave you to enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest whilst he eats. You know the song, I trust."_

_"The one about the rain? Aye, my lord. I know it."_

_Edmure seemed to see the man for the first time. "No. Not him. Get him away from me."_

_"Why, it's just a song," said Jaime. "He cannot have that bad a voice."_

_That was when the raven came, bearing the wolf of Winterfell and the Stag of House Baratheon._

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Time Stands Still On The Iron Hill

**Sansa**

Her time in King’s Landing had come to an end. That was something she still had some difficulty truly believing. She had been a prisoner in the capital for two years, though at first she had gone with her father and sister as a willing lady, besotted with Prince Joffrey and the wonders of the south. That had changed once Joffrey had her father’s head taken off and mounted on a spike in the Red Keep. That was when she noticed the things that had made Robb and Arya and Jon and Jeyne hate him, things she had been too blind before to see. The cruelty and the sheer hatred that he had for anyone or anything, it was amazing how once the smoke had been lifted from her eyes she saw Joffrey for what he truly was, not the gallant prince of song, but a vile beast from one of the Seven Hells.

Her time in King’s Landing had felt like a time in a cage, she was the little bird that the Hound had called her in those early days. She repeated back the courtesies she had been taught as a little girl in Winterfell by Septa Mordane, but that had earnt her nothing more than the Queen’s scorn and beatings from the knights of the Kingsguard, men who were supposed to be the noblest knights in the whole realm. Then the Tyrells had come to court, and things had improved slightly. Margaery treated her like a sister, the sister she had always dreamed of having when she had been younger, but such thoughts had only made her feel so guilty and lonely- for there was still no word of Arya- and when Margaery had told her that perhaps she could come to Highgarden with her to meet Margaery’s oldest brother Lord Willas, Sansa had been so happy, so relieved that she might finally get the chance to leave King’s Landing and the horrors it still held for her, that she had agreed. And yet the Lannisters had foiled that little slither of hope, and had married her off to Lord Tyrion the day before she was meant to go off for Highgarden.

The Tyrells stopped being her friend from that day on. Oh Margaery still spoke with her, but her cousins did not, they looked at Sansa with something akin to scorn, as if Sansa had done something wrong, when in truth she had done nothing more than hope and pray for a way out of King’s Landing. Tyrion was not a bad husband, he was kind and gentle and he did not ever try to claim his rights from her, but he was still a Lannister, he was still one of them. Joffrey was still his nephew, and so she could not be free with him, her mask, the mask she had worn for so long by then was kept in place night and day, no release for her, nothing. Then the news had come on raven’s wings that her brother and mother had died, had been murdered at her uncle Edmure’s wedding by the Freys and the Boltons.  She had cried then, truly she had, she had cried until she thought that she might never cry again.

She had been about to give up hope that she would ever see Winterfell again, would ever get to go home ever again, when her cousin Jeyne and her aunt Ashara had come as part of the Dornish retinue to King’s Landing. She and Jeyne had been close as children when Jeyne had been in Winterfell, Jeyne liked sewing and needlework and womanly pursuits, but she also had a great adventurous side to her which was at complete odds with her health, and that had endeared her to Robb, and Arya, something that had made Sansa quite jealous toward the end of her cousin’s stay in Winterfell, and had made her side with Joffrey when Jon had attacked him. She felt guilty about that now though, especially when she saw how frail of health Jeyne truly was, how she often took ill. Joffrey did not help matters, with his derogatory comments and his advances, all done when not in the company of Margaery, and then there was the time Sansa walked into her room to find Jeyne curled up in a ball crying her eyes out, because Joffrey had done something so entirely inappropriate to her.

Jeyne never spoke of that though, and instead spent her time with Sansa helping her through the daily grind of court and life, and then at night they would sleep together and plan how they would flee from King’s Landing. The day of Joffrey’s wedding the plans were finalised. Jeyne told her to stay very close to her and aunt Ashara during the wedding feast, and so Sansa did, and just before the pie was served Jeyne began coughing, and of course the Queen had to allow her to go, Sansa following her cousin’s leave begged Tyrion to allow her to go and help Jeyne, distracted as he was Tyrion granted her request, and so a few moments later Sansa found herself running through the halls of the Red Keep to the Godswood Jeyne holding her hand and running with her, where they found Ser Arthur- Jeyne’s sworn sword- and Ser Mors Gargalen and Aunt Ashara waiting for them. They ran to the docks where a ship bearing the star of House Dayne and the Sun and Spear of House Martell was waiting for them, but before they could get onto the ship Ser Dontos and two other men whom Sansa did not know came barrelling out of the darkness and tried to take her away from Jeyne, but they were allowed no further as Ser Arthur and Ser Mors cut all three men down to ribbons and then helped Sansa and her cousin and her aunt onto the ship and away from King’s Landing.

It was later, after they had spent many days on the ship travelling toward Sunspear, that Sansa learnt from a conversation that she and Jeyne overheard that Ser Dontos had been working for Lord Baelish and that those two other men with him had been working for Baelish as well, and that one of the men had before he had been slain confessed that Baelish meant to take Sansa to the Vale with him. Meant to use her as a way to earn the north’s allegiance, against the Boltons and Freys for some game that he was playing. She remembered Lord Baelish from some of the occasions she had seen him in court. The man had an unnatural look to him, and his eyes always seemed to be looking for something or the other when he spoke to you, and when he spoke to Sansa, he always remarked on how much like her mother she looked, and that always unnerved her because he would always linger too long on her cheek and hair when he touched her.

Their ship made one stop at Parchments before moving onto Sunspear. And it was there that she and Jeyne were beneath the deck in their rooms exchanging stories and keeping each other company when Ser Arthur and Lady Ashara entered having gone to the mainland to pick up supplies. And it was then that Sansa learnt of Lord Tywin Lannister’s death, how he had been killed by Lord Tyrion- his own son- and how there had been fighting up at the Wall between the Night’s Watch and the Wildlings and how Stannis Baratheon had come to the Night’s Watch aid and then after the battle had legitimised Sansa’s cousin Jon and named him Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North and how Jon had married Alys- Robb’s widow- Ashara spoke with some pride of how Jon was re taking the north from the Ironborn and the Boltons, how he had led the charge that vanquished the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte. Ser Arthur then spoke of how news from King’s Landing was of growing disunity between the Queen Regent and the Tyrells, how the Queen Regent was rumoured to becoming more and more paranoid. How Lannister rule on the Iron Throne was slipping.

Later that day as Sansa and Jeyne were walking back to their rooms from dinner they overheard Lady Ashara arguing with someone, a man it appeared for the person she was arguing with had a much deeper voice.  Sansa and Jeyne both remained deeply silent and tiptoed closer to the door which was slightly ajar, Sansa all the while feeling guilty for what she was doing, but what she heard shocked her. _“You can’t be serious Ashara; it’s too dangerous for you to go north now. Not with Bolton and Freys still holding Winterfell.” That was Ser Arthur’s voice._

_“Why not Arthur? My son is winning back the north, and avenging his family.” Her aunt Ashara replied._

_“What of those rumours we heard in Parchments of dragons and the fall of the Slaver cities in the east then? You know there is only one family synonymous with Dragons Ashara.”_

_Ashara snorted. “You can not mean to go chasing a rumour Arthur. Whomever it is freeing the slaves in the east, it is not our concern now. We have more pressing matters to worry about. Jeyne’s health is not what it should be and we must keep Sansa safe, we must do.”_

_“You don’t understand Ashara, I swore a vow.” Ser Arthur replied._

_“I know what you swore Arthur. You swore vows to me and Elia too, or have you forgotten?”_

_“I have not.”_

_“Good. The dragons brought nothing more than trouble for our family. I cannot lose you again Arthur. You couldn’t save Elia, but you can still protect our family from the Lannisters, you can help my son and my daughter.”_

_Sansa heard Ser Arthur sigh. “Very well Ashara. I will promise not to lose my head, should the dragons come calling. On my honour as a knight, on my honour as a Dayne, I shall not leave you or our family again.”_

Sansa had pulled back then and looked at Jeyne with wide eyes, her cousin looked equally shocked. Ser Arthur-whose last name she had never known- was in fact a Dayne, not only that he was Ser Arthur Dayne the legendary Sword of the Morning and Jeyne’s uncle!  The shock had left them both reeling, and for days afterwards that was all they talked of. Reasons for why Jeyne’s uncle could have had for hiding his identity for all these years, and why Sansa’s own lord father had always maintained that only he and his friend Lord Howland had come back alive from the Tower of Joy, though the more she thought of it, she realised that her father had never explicitly mentioned what had happened to Ser Arthur Dayne, she had just assumed like the rest of the Seven Kingdoms that the Sword of the Morning had died.

When they arrived in Sunspear, they had been away from King’s Landing for near on a month now, and so they were greeted with even more news. According to Princess Arianne who rode to the docks to attend to them, her uncle Prince Oberyn had taken it upon himself to fight for Sansa’s husband in a trial by combat against Ser Gregor Clegane, and had come out victorious he had killed Ser Gregor with a deadly poison, but had suffered for his victory, his left eye had been crushed in and he was now blind in that eye. But Princess Arianne said that Dorne and her uncle did not mind much about his broken eye, all they cared for now was that the long awaited justice that they had craved for her aunt and cousins the Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon had finally been gotten.

Sansa remembered reading and hearing about Dorne during her lessons in Winterfell, and Sunspear at least seemed to be exactly what she had imagined and more. It seemed like some sort of desert paradise, with sands and a great big castle that was the seat of House Martell, with lots of huts and buildings that made up the summer town. The Dornish people she saw in Sunspear were all tanned and brown of skin and hair, and free with their speech and attitude, though Jeyne told her that there was still a certain level of intrigue that went on in Dorne, it was just harder to see it.

Three days after her arrival in Sunspear, she met Prince Doran for the first time. Jeyne had told her all about Prince Doran, the Prince of Dorne was an old man who suffered from gout, and yet he seemed like a kindly man and there was a certain aura that radiated off him, a certain amount of respect that one just had to pay him. When she met him, he greeted her kindly and offered his sympathies for her losses, and then introduced her to his nieces and youngest son, the Sand Snakes particularly the oldest one Obara reminded Sansa of Arya so much so that she felt something in her chest stir painfully at the thought. Prince Trystane who was betrothed to Princess Myrcella, was a sweet boy although quite shy, he reminded her a little of Bran, and Sansa felt another pang in her chest as she thought of her little brother, dead now, killed by Theon Greyjoy.

Two weeks after her arrival in Sunspear, Prince Oberyn arrived back in Sunspear with his Dornish party and with him he brought, the skull of Gregor Clegane and Lord Willas Tyrell.

* * *

**Cersei**

Seventeen years she had waited, seventeen years of biding her time, and finally she had all the power of the realm in her fingertips. Joffrey, her firstborn and her true lion of a son was dead, murdered by her own imp of a brother, Cersei mourned for Joff, but she could not mourn for long, Tyrion had killed their father as well and Cersei meant to see her imp of a brother’s head on a spike before she could rest easy. Of course her father’s death had left many holes in the running of the kingdoms. Her father had kept a tight rein on the Kingdoms, ensuring that peace could finally come to Westeros after two years of out and out war, and Cersei meant to ensure that all his hard work did not end up for nought.

Of course she did not meant to delegate the work to anyone, she meant to do it all herself. She had offered the Handship to Jaime- her twin, her other half- but the fool had refused, had spurned her for some foolish honourable cause, and so Cersei had decided to appoint Ser Harys Swyft her uncle Kevan’s good father as hand. Ser Harys was a tractable man and one who would do as he was bid without questioning his instructions too much and that was something that Cersei had begun to appreciate greatly as time went on. Her orders to rearm the faith had gone unquestioned, her orders that the Tower of the Hand be burnt down had gone unquestioned. Everything had been running smoothly and then her uncle Kevan had spoken to her as he had been about to leave the city for Darry, and he had told her that he knew the truth of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommem’s parentage, and there had been a look of such disgust in his eyes, that she had been momentarily struck dumb, and had even contemplated having Qyburn send a man to kill her uncle before he could do anything with the news.

She had told Jaime this, and her fool of a brother had simply laughed and laughed at her, and told her that their uncle would not act on the news. She supposed looking back on it now, Jaime had been right. Something about their father’s death had unmanned Uncle Kevan, he who had been their father’s right hand for as long as Cersei could remember, he who had never once flinched from his duty to his brother or to House Lannister, had refused her offer for the Handship and had decided to retreat back to the Rock like a whipped Lion. Her brother Jaime too seemed changed, something must have happened to him during his captivity, for he had lost his fight, his anger all those qualities that had made her love and lust for him during their lives, seemed to have disappeared from him, and now he seemed to be a figment of the man he had been before the war had started. She had sent him off to lift the siege of Riverrun, and Raventree Hall, and so far she knew that Riverrun had now changed hands and was now in the hands of her uncle Emmon and his wife Genna, but there had been no word of Jaime since then.

There had been other goings on in court though which had kept her busy and prevented her from fretting too much about her brother’s whereabouts. She had suspected ever since Joffrey had been betrothed to Margaery Tyrell that the girl meant to turn her own sons against her. And so she had employed the use of Qyburn and his whispers and Lady Merryweather to feed her information about Margaery Tyrell and the company she kept, and that had allowed her to plant several rumours into the High Septon- or High Sparrow-‘s ear, which had subsequently resulted in Margaery’s arrest for adultery and treason. Before that had happened, Cersei had sent Ser Loras and some Tyrell men to Dragonstone to take one of the last strongholds that Stannis Baratheon still had in the south, Mace Tyrell she sent to Storm’s End, and the fat fool had been laying siege to it, and having just about as much success as he had had during Robert’s Rebellion seventeen years ago. With the Ironborn invading the Reach though, there were some causes for concern but she remembered what her late husband and her late father had both said to her once of the Ironborn. They may raid and plunder to their heart’s content but when it came to actual physical battle, they were weak and disorganized and would more than likely spend themselves out before any real threat could be mounted, and besides with Ser Garlan Tyrell leading a force of men to deal with them, they were not like to be causing anymore trouble anytime soon. This also meant that there were fewer roses to infect the court, or at least there had been.

Cersei’s plotting and scheming had come back to bite her in the back. The faith had had her arrested for crimes of adultery, treason and other such nonsense. The first two crimes were true, she knew that, she had not spent a night in Robert’s bed since their wedding night, all the pleasure she could ever have wanted she had gotten from Jaime, and then when Jaime was away she took advantage of those she knew she could use for political purposes. Robert’s death she had also planned with a little help from a boar. But of course no one knew that, no one but wispy little Lancel who had packed himself off to Darry and had become a pious simpering idiot the last she had heard, though it was entirely possible that he had told the new High Septon before he had left about what he had done for Cersei. And of course the High Septon wished for her to confess to all of her crimes, something to which she knew she could not do, for it would mean death and then Tommem would be lost without her, she could not do that not to her sweet little Tommem, so she confessed to some of her crimes, but not all of them, and then to further satisfy the High Septon she went on a penance walk along the streets of King’s Landing whilst the smallfolk of the city taunted her and laughed at her. All the while she kept thinking of Tommem and how her son needed her, and how once her innocence was proven she would make all those who had betrayed her pay, she would make the High Septon pay.

Once her walk was done she was kept in custody in the Great Sept of Baelor for some more time, and then her Uncle Kevan eventually came to free her, he had been named Hand during her imprisonment and had been trying to restore any of the damage she had done to their alliance with the Tyrells. He had given the Handship to Lord Mace, who had come blustering and bumbling back from Storm’s End leaving a small force still laying siege to it, so that he could have his daughter freed, Lord Tarly had come down from Maidenpool as well and held Margaery in his custody until her trial was done. Dragonstone had fallen to Ser Loras, though the little white knight had taken a severe injury and burning in the taking of the castle, Mace Tyrell had apparently assured her uncle that Storm’s End would break and fall soon enough. Her uncle had only told her that much when he had come to see her for dinner the night he had been killed. There was more she was sure of it, more news that he had yet to share with her, news about Stannis and about Jaime, important news, but news which she was certain the Tyrells did not want him telling her about. Her uncle had been found in Grand Maester Pycelle’s room with an arrow through his stomach and knife wounds through his chest and arms, he had bled to death, the Grand Maester had met a similar fate, she had heard the septas who attended her whispering the next day, and when Qyburn had come to speak to her of golden rose coins that had been found beside the bodies of the dead.

He had also presented her with her new champion in the trial by combat that she would be going through to prove her innocence, Ser Robert Strong a giant of a man standing close to eight feet tall, in full Kingsguard Armour day in and day out. Qyburn had told her that he would speak a word until her innocence had been proven and as such today was the day of her trial, held before the Tyrell girl’s trial, here was where she would be proven innocent.

As such she was led by the septas to the ground where the trial would take place, not anywhere near the Sept of Baelor, no these grounds were where the Tourney of the Hand had taken place when Robert had been king. There was no crowd to witness her innocence be proven, only a few grisly old Septas and Septons and then the High Septon himself, stood in a plain white robe with a simple crown atop his head. He stood forward and spoke. “We are here today in sight of the seven, to witness the trial by battle to prove the innocence of her grace Queen Cersei Baratheon. Should her champion prove victorious all charges against her will be dropped and she will be free to resume her duties. However, should her champion fail and die during the battle, she will face death by the hangman’s noose.”

Her champion Ser Robert Strong stepped forward then dressed in Kingsguard white his helm atop his head, he bowed low before her before sauntering off to stand ready and waiting for the Faith’s champion to approach.  The faith’s champion soon emerged, wearing nothing more than a simple grey boiled armour and a grey cloak and a helm shaped like the seven pointed star, the Faith’s champion did not look anything special. He bowed low before the High Septon and then advanced toward Ser Robert. Cersei’s heart started hammering in her chest as she waited for the High Septon to declare the fight started. “Begin.” The man said in a clear voice, and so it did.

Ser Robert advanced forward lumbering as he did so, the faith’s champion moved backwards and Ser Robert followed. The faith’s champion continued moving round and round Ser Robert drawing her champion closer and closer to him, and yet the man made no move to strike, nor did Ser Robert attempt to strike. Just as Cersei was beginning to lose her patience, Ser Robert swung, and he swung true, his sword broke through the man’s shield and struck his armour denting it. The faith’s champion staggered back from the force of the blow, and Ser Robert followed him. Ser Robert swung once more and struck once again, this time denting the man’s shoulder plate. The man staggered back once again.  Ser Robert swung and struck true once more, this time he drew blood.

Cersei saw the Faith’s champion’s blood falling down onto the muddy ground, and waited with baited breath. Ser Robert swung once more, and struck true once again, this time drawing blood from the man’s chest and further denting the man’s main body of armour. Ser Robert swung once more, and struck true again and again and again, until the faiths champion was on his knees his armour dented and broken in several places, blood pouring out from several wounds and adding to the muddy ground. She could hear the man’s heavy breathing from where she was sat; gripping onto the edge of her seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white from the strain.

Ser Robert raised his sword up once more and brought it crashing down, but at the last minute the faith’s champion brought his sword up just in time and the sound of steel on steel screeched around the ground. Cersei saw Ser Robert push down harder on his sword, putting his weight behind the weapon, causing the two swords to screech from the contact,  the other fighter was straining from the effort Cersei could see, about to break. Then from somewhere the other fighter found the strength to push Ser Robert’s sword away from his own, causing Ser Robert to stagger back. The other fighter staggered to his feet, and then began counted attacking Ser Robert, though his swings rarely connected anything other than Ser Robert’s sword, the sound of steel on steel sung throughout the yard. Otherwise there was complete silence.

Ser Robert blocked yet another blow from the faith’s fighter and then Cersei sat amazed as her champion took one hand off the sword and brought it round to punch the faith’s champion in the face, and then in another swift movement brought the same hand back onto his sword hilt and plunged it into the man’s armour and then pulled out again, a splatter of blood following his sword as it came out of the man’s chest.  The man fell to his knees, Cersei’s breathing became quicker as she waited in anticipation for the killing blow, the blow that would free her from her captivity.

She saw Ser Robert raise his sword up high into the air ready to bring it crashing down onto the man and end the fight, but just as his sword was coming down, somewhere the man found the reserve to lift his sword up and thrust it quickly into Ser Robert’s chest, causing a blueish type substance to pour out from the fresh wound that the strike had opened. Cersei felt her heart enter her throat then as she saw the blueish substance leak out, the faith would not stand for that, whatever that was, but it made no matter for Ser Robert’s sword came hurtling down and cut the faith’s champion down into two.

There was a moment of silence, and then a great clattering of steel as Ser Robert fell to his knees. Another moment of silence and then the groaning of steel as Ser Robert dropped his sword. Cersei turned to look at Qyburn, only to find that the man was looking at the High Septon intently, Cersei turned and looked at the man as well and saw the flush and the nervousness written plain on his face. She heard him as well as saw him swallow nervously, before he finally spoke. “Queen Cersei’s innocence is proven. Her champion has won her fight. She is free to go.” Cersei felt relief coil in her stomach then, so much so she almost didn’t hear the sound of Ser Robert strong hitting the ground, but when she did she stopped dead in her tracks, her heart hammering something fierce.

* * *

**Jon Connington**

_After the Battle of the Bells when Aerys Targaryen had stripped him of his titles and sent him into exile in a mad fit of ingratitude and suspicion, the lands and lordship of Griffin’s Roost had remained within House Connington, passing to his cousin Ser Ronald, the man whom Jon had made his castellan when he went to King’s Landing to attend Prince Rhaegar. Robert Baratheon had completed the destruction of the griffins after the war. Cousin Ronald was permitted to retain his castle and his head, but he lost his lordship, thereafter being merely the Knight of Griffin’s Roost, and nine tenths of his lands were taken from him and parcelled out to neighbour lords who had supported Robert’s Claim. It was not Ronald’s fault, it was his own. He had lost it all at the Stoney Sept._

_Robert Baratheon had been hiding somewhere in the town, wounded and alone. Jon had known that, and he had also known that Robert’s head upon a spear would have put an end to the rebellion, then and there. He was young and full of pride. How not? King Aerys had named him Hand and given him an army, and he meant to prove himself worthy of that trust, of Rhaegar’s love. He would slay the rebel lord himself and carve a place out for himself in all the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. And so he swept down on Stoney Sept, closed off the town and began a search. His knights went house to house, smashed in every door, peered into every cellar. He had even sent men crawling through the sewers, yet somehow Robert still eluded him. The townsfolk were hiding him. They moved him from one secret bolt hole to the next, always one step ahead of the king’s men. The whole town was a nest of traitors. At the end they had the usurper hidden in a brothel. What sort of king was that, who hid behind the skirts of women, and that too when he supposedly fought for a lady love? Yet whilst the search dragged on Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully came down upon the town with a rebel army. Bells and battle followed, and Robert emerged from his brothel with a blade in hand, and almost slew Jon on the steps of the old sept that gave the town its name. Jon had fought back though; he always fought back, and had wounded Hoster Tully and killed Denys Arryn. But they would have lost the battle and the war there and then had he not beat back a retreat to King’s Landing. When he arrived back in the capital, the city was in a state of panic. Aerys was angry, very angry, he ranted and raved at Jon and then dismissed him and exiled him._

_Before he left though Ser Gerold Hightower the White Bull gave him some coin and a letter bearing word of a spider. Jon looked not at the letter for years, but he drank all the coin away when he heard word of the Trident, he was in Bravos when news came of Rhaegar’s death and he drank and whored himself into oblivion. He was in Pentos when news came of the sack of King’s Landing, the deaths of Elia Martell and Rhaenys and Aegon. He drank and drank, and then joined the Golden Company, and for five years he had a purpose, he fought and fought his sorrows away.  It had been five years into his exile that Ser Myles Toyne, the commander of the Golden Company at the time had told him that there was a letter he needed to read. The letter bore the sigil of a spider, and its contents were writ in the flowery hand of the Spider himself. He wrote of how Jon’s silver prince survived on in his true heir, neither Viserys nor Danaerys. And if Jon wished to see his silver prince’s son again he must needs travel to Pentos.  Of course he could just simply up and leave the Golden Company; no Blackheart first had to find him stealing from the coffers and send him out in disgrace, where as he wondered the lands he drank himself into oblivion. At least that was the tale the Spider would weave for the usurper, in reality Jon had made his way to Pentos where he had come to the manse of one Illyrio Mopatis to find a boy no older than five playing in the house and the boy had looked so much like Rhaegar had that Jon had found his breath momentarily leave his body. That had been the day that Jon Connington head learnt how the Spider had managed to sneak Prince Aegon- King Aegon- out of King’s Landing in the dying hours of the rebellion and managed to sneak him to Pentos, to his old friend Illyrio Mopatis, one of the most prominent magisters in Pentos._

_They had spent a year in Illyrio’s manse allowing Aegon to get accustomed to Jon and then they had ventured out, onto a boat where they had lived for the next twelve years. And then the dwarf had come. Tyrion Lannister with his japes and his gilded tongue, had come and had sussed out who Jon and Aegon truly were within a matter of days of being aboard the Shy Maid, the fool had even gotten himself greyscale, which Jon had just about narrowly avoided giving himself as well according to Lemore. It had been the Imp with his gilded tongue and barbed comments who had made Aegon become more cagey of those he trusted, it had been at the Imp’s insistence that they had gone west toward Westeros after picking up the Golden Company in Volon Therys, instead of heading out east to aid Danaerys as had been the plan from the beginning._

_Aegon had come to Jon Connington with a red egg with golden flecks and black whorls. The egg had been petrified through the years, had been given as a gift to the boy for his fifth nameday. The egg had remained petrified till one day just before Aegon’s sixteenth nameday they had stopped in Volantis, on the cusps of the Red Priest’s temples and Aegon had gotten lost within the great temple of Fire, Jon had panicked and panicked then, had feared for this boy who had become a son to him, his last chance of redemption. He need not have worried, Aegon had emerged from the Temple of Fire, scarred and with an eyebrow missing, but with a red dragon perched on his shoulder, a dragon he named Acteon. Acteon had grown and grown in the woods near their boat, Aegon spent a great amount of time, when he was not learning his words and numbers with Haldon and not sparring with Rolly in the woods with Acteon, learning how to train him and master the art of dragon riding. As word came from the east of Danaerys’ dragons, Aegon’s desire to meet his aunt only increased, but then reality set in. Danaerys was conquering the cities of Slaver’s Bay, but it seemed she had no intention of heading west, at least not in the foreseeable future._

_And so Aegon had decreed that they set sail for Westeros and so they had. But they had not gone for King’s Landing, no the Spider’s last report had stated that with Stannis Baratheon stuck in the north, the Stormlands were in disarray. It seemed that the eunuch was right. They had landed on Cape Wrath with 6000 men some still stuck out to sea, that had split into three companies of two thousand men. One company bound for Greenstone that had fallen with ease. Then had come Rain House, that had surrendered without too much of a fight, the days of Ser Willam Wylde and ancient loyalties ran deep. Next had fallen Crow’s Nest under the command of Ser Tristan Rivers. Jon had taken command of the company bound for Griffin’s Roost, they had found the castle defended by a garrison of old men, needless to say they had taken it with little bloodshed._

_Then Aegon had come, and it was like déjà vu for Jon, Aegon held himself in the same way that Prince Rhaegar had. He had the same sort of authority about himself, and he made quite an impression riding on Acteon’s back.  It was then that Aegon had announced that he had decided that they would march on Storm’s End; the Baratheon stronghold was under siege from a meagre Tyrell host under the command of Mathis Rowan. He would lead the attack he stated, riding not on Acteon’s back but on a black stallion. Acteon would remain hidden in the woods for later use. As they planned how the attack would go, the last 4,000 members of the Golden Company came to shore and marched for Griffin’s Roost. Jon had given instructions to the companies holding Greenstone, Crow’s Nest and Rain House that they were to remain stationed there, until further notice. SO these extra 4,000 men were a bonus._

A week after the taking of Griffin’s Roost they marched for Storm’s End. But they did not fly the Targaryen banner, no in a clever ploy designed by Aegon; the men flew the Baratheon banner to trick the garrison of Storm’s End into thinking Stannis had sent aid to them. The plot seemed to work, as the Golden Company engaged with Mathis Rowan’s host, the gates of Storm’s End opened and out came the garrison of Storm’s End swords in hand. Jon lost track of Aegon during the battle, so busy was he hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing, the bells were tolling loudly inside of his head, but still he kept hacking and slashing, staining his sword blood red.

Man after man fell, whether they had the Tyrell arms or the Rowan arms or any other arms belonging to houses from the Reach did not matter if they swung at Jon he cut them down. The ground was slippery with blood and muck and mud, when he came face to face with a big burly man with the golden tree of House Rowan on his armour. The man swung at Jon, he swerved to the side in time and the man’s sword whipped past him. Jon dabbed at the man’s chest but was blocked by his shield, which also had the golden tree of house Rowan.

Then they brought their swords up together and the clanging of the meeting in the air resounded in Jon’s ears, bells began tolling loudly. They broke contact and then swung at each other once more, meeting once again in the air, and the screeching of steel on steel only increasing the tolling of bells in Jon’s ears. They broke apart once more, and then Jon thrust his sword into the man’s right rib and made contact, denting the armour there and opening a wound, judging by the sound of cracking he heard.

The man grunted, somewhere far away another screamed. Jon blanked the noise out and focussed on the opponent in front of him. He blocked the man’s swing, and answered it with one of his own, and the sound of steel connecting with flesh was like music to his ears. He swung again and again until, his sword had dented the man’s armour in many places, the man had swung too and had dented Jon’s own armour multiple times. Blood was littering the ground and both their swords, and yet they kept fighting.

They ducked and dodged, danced and weaved in between each other, all the while their swords kept clanging together in sync. Steel hit steel and screeched. Steel hit armour and armour dented and blood fell to the ground. Steel hit shield, and shields broke. Around them were a sea of bodies, a mass of human faces and blood, men were grunting, shouting and screaming. Jon heard but did not register, he kept swinging.

And then with one stroke to his opponent’s gullet the man was lying on the ground dead, blood pouring from his wounds. Jon Connington stared blankly at the man on the ground, before he realised that men were cheering, cheering and yelling and shouting. He looked around to see the bodies of Rowan and Tyrell soldiers littering the ground as well as a few men with the Baratheon Stag on their armour and a few from the Golden Company. He stopped one man who was near him and asked him what had happened.

The man stopped and looked at him as if he were mad. “We won milord. King Aegon has taken Storm’s End.” The man smiled, whooped and then moved on. It took Jon a moment to process what the man had said, they had won, and Storm’s End was theirs.

Later that night Jon found himself in the Great Hall of Storm’s End, still not quite believing where he was or what had happened. Next to him Aegon sat and laughed and drank and ate with his men and threw pieces of food out of the window to Acteon, much to his men’s amusement. Jon looked up from his plate when the talking stopped and saw Aegon had gotten to his feet.

He saw his King smile a winning smile at the men, and then he spoke in a iron baritone that reminded Jon so much of Rhaegar he nearly shivered from it. “My friends, we have Storm’s End. Let the boy king and the Lannisters know that we are here and we mean to take back King’s Landing and the Iron Throne!” the answering cheer was deathly loud. Aegon continued. “We are not done yet, I will have my maester Haldon write to the Stormlords and have them come here to swear me fealty. And I would name my Lord Connington, the new Lord of Storm’s End and Hand of the King.” The cheer in response to that was three times as loud. The bells were quiet, but time was standing still for Jon Connington.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Cry Of The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter has come, and Winterfell is about to change hands.

**Reek**

He’d forgotten his name many times since his captivity, making vain boasts in the beginning about what he would do to his captors once he got out and got away. Lord Ramsay had shown him the error of his ways then, flogging him and flaying him to an inch of his life. He no longer had three toes on his left foot, he no longer had most of his right hand, his teeth were all broken and his face bore numerous scars. He had tried to escape once, with a girl called Kyra, it had been a trap set up by Lord Ramsay, he knew now, to test him and his strength. He had failed miserably, he’d run with Kyra they had gotten as far as outside the Dreadfort when the dogs had come calling, Ramsay’s girls, they’d torn Kyra to pieces, but not before the Lord Bolton had raped her numerous times. Reek he’d flayed, and Reek still bore the scars of that flaying both on his person and inside. No he would not forget his name again.

Lord Ramsay had made use of him though. When he had ridden south to deal with the Ironborn still in Moat Cailin he had taken his reek with him, and made Reek talk with the Ironborn, Reek had gotten them to surrender, and for the first time since Winterfell he had felt proud of what he had done, he no longer felt cowed. At least that was until the men Lord Ramsay brought killed the Ironborn who had surrendered and those that they did not kill were brought back to the Dreadfort and flayed numerous times, Reek from where he slept in the dungeons could hear their screams, and sometimes at night they still haunted him. Of course Lord Ramsay had punished as well though, for traitors were not tolerated by the Bastard of Bolton, and Ramsay had flayed Reek to an inch of his life in the Dreadfort, before they had ridden for Barrowtown.

It was in Barrowtown that Reek met Roose Bolton once more. A boy named Theon Greyjoy had once mocked Roose Bolton, had made fun of his seriousness and those cold dead eyes. Theon Greyjoy had been a fool, Roose Bolton was not someone to be mocked, and he was someone to be feared. Those cold dead eyes always looked around the hall in Barrowtown, watching and assessing as his men and those of his new bannermen eat and drank and talked. Roose Bolton was a cold and calculating man Reek knew, for he saw all the things that Theon Greyjoy had never deemed important enough. He saw how some of Lord Bolton’s bannermen were scared of Ramsay but were terrified of Roose, and that was why they were all following him in his little charade.

For after spending a week in Barrowtown the northern party made its way to the ruins of Winterfell. It was said that Theon Greyjoy had burnt Winterfell to the ground and made it a ruin, Reek could not say, though he did remember smoke and ash and the crying of babes as they were taken from their parents. Ramsay Bolton had wed Arya Stark in the Godswood in Winterfell before the north, and so had legitimised his claim to the north. If only the girl was Arya Stark. Reek knew from some distant memory that Arya Stark would never have been so complacent and so meek as she was walked down to the aisle to face her husband, she would have kicked and screamed and bitten any who tried to make her go down. But of course this girl, this girl pretending to be Arya Stark had been friends with Sansa Stark, had watched and emulated as her friend became a true lady, and so she did not scream, not did she bite. No all she did was meekly walk down to the heart tree and say her vows before the north and her husband. It was later, when the bedding was about to occur that the facade the girl had put in place began to crack. She whimpered and gripped on to his arm so tightly, Reek had been afraid that it would snap off.

His lordship had made Reek taste the girl first, whilst he watched. The girl had whimpered underneath his tongue, but soon she began to moan and Reek had begun to worry that perhaps that would make his lordship angry, and that Reek would face severe flaying when they next were alone. But nothing happened, Reek kept his tongue working and the girl kept moaning, and the only sound of his lordship came from his heavy panting. Then his lordship had pushed Reek aside and had him flung from the room, but kept outside the doors so he could listen as his lordship bedded his wife. The screams and the cries still kept Reek awake some nights. The next morning the girl had been shivering and flinching at the slightest bit of movement, not like the real Arya Stark would have, Arya Stark would have fought Bolton back, she would have most likely tried to kill him and would have been killed in the attempt.

Each night Reek was summoned to his lordship’s chambers and made to get the girl ready for him, and each night the girl would come apart under Reek’s tongue panting and moaning, and then his lordship would enter the room and would claim his rights, sometimes he would keep Reek in the room to watch, and sometimes he would have Reek thrown out of the room but kept in front of the doors so he could hear. It made no difference, Reek could still hear his lordship’s pants and groans and the screams of the girl, as his Lordship entered her. Somewhere deep inside of him Reek wanted to scream at Ramsay that the girl he was married to was not Arya Stark, the real Arya Stark was dead, long buried somewhere in King’s Landing. He wanted to scream at Lord Bolton that this was all a sham and that the gods would cast them all down to hell, he wanted to scream at the northern lords who stood by and watched silently as an innocent girl was raped and beaten simply so that traitors could claim their reward. Of course though, he said nothing, he kept his mouth shut and prayed and prayed that the days of flaying were over; he did not think he could stand to be flayed once more. He might go mad.

The peace that Reek had found in Winterfell was deeply interrupted when news came from the Wall. Stannis Baratheon had come to the aid of the Night’s Watch and had legitimised Jon Sand and made him Jon Stark, Jon had married Alys Stark Robb’s widow, Reek did not know Jon Stark nor did he know Alys Stark. But Theon Greyjoy had, Jon Sand had been a solemn and brooding boy when Theon had known him, only laughing and playing when Robb or his sister Jeyne came to play, Theon had thought him boring and had mocked him. Alys Stark had been a beauty, Theon Greyjoy had thought, he had lusted after her but had never pursued her, she was Robb’s, and Robb was his friend his brother. Robb was dead though, slain at the Red Wedding by the Freys along with Lady Catelyn and Greywind and countless other northmen and Rivermen. That was not the story that the Bolton’s or the Freys were putting out though, they were claiming it had been Robb who had brought the red wedding on himself, that was what they said in the open, but no one paid attention to Reek when they were alone and he heard things, he heard the truth.

Stannis Baratheon had marched west from Deepwood Motte and had taken it from the Ironborn from Asha Greyjoy. She was his prisoner now, and more of the northmen were rallying to his cause. Already he had House Karstark, House Glover, House Mormont, House Wull, House Flint, House Norrey, House Liddle and rumour had it some of the Skagosi tribesmen were coming into help the pretender to the Iron Throne take Winterfell, reporting of boats had been seen of the coast of the Bay of Seals. Tensions were growing in Winterfell though as more and more news of Stannis Baratheon’s progress reached them. Tension between the northern houses and the Freys over the Red Wedding, tension between House Umber, Manderly and House Dustin and Ryswell. In the thick of it all was Roose Bolton with his dead and unseeing eyes, who watched and listened to the talk and did nothing.

Except for when a fight broke out between Manderly and Frey men, and Lord Wyman had his multiple chins opened. Then there was a serious fight, and for the first time Reek saw what looked like fear in the Leech Lord’s eyes. Stannis Baratheon was a day’s ride away from Winterfell, that was what the scouts they had captured had said, Roose Bolton sent men out under Aenys and Hosteen Frey’s command to deal with him. He kept the larger part of his strength inside the walls of Winterfell waiting to see what would happen.

There had been deaths within the castle walls before the incident between Manderly and the Freys. It was Frey men dying though, sudden deaths, falling off their horse in the blizzards, falling from the top of the wall whilst on sentry duty. Suspicion had fallen on Reek, but Reek was not Theon Greyjoy and so that had dropped. Then suspicion had turned on Lord Manderly, the man had been overtly happy during and since the wedding and it was curious Reek thought, considering. But no Reek did not believe that Lord Manderly was responsible for the deaths, nor did Lady Dustin. No there had been a hooded man in Winterfell during the wedding and since, he would appear in the castle at the strangest of times and disappear when the bodies of the dead men were found only to reappear once more a few days later, and disappear again. Reek said nothing of the man to anyone, for who would believe him. Half people in Winterfell hated him for a turncloak, though that had been Theon Greyjoy’s actions not Reek’s and the other half never came near him because of his smell.

When the Freys did not return after two weeks, panic was beginning to set in Winterfell. Roose Bolton’s sources in the east coast reported that the Skagosi had landed in the mainland and were heading south, where no one knew but they were heading south with considerable numbers. Lord Bolton sent his son Ramsay out into the bleakness of the Wolfswood with 500 men to see if he could find the Freys and their men. They waited, one day turned into two days, turned into three days turned into a week, and still there was no word. Tensions began to grow and Roose Bolton more often than not could be found in discussion with Rickard Ryswell or Roose Ryswell or Lady Dustin. Two weeks after Lord Ramsay had set out to find the Freys the Skaggs came. Blowing war horns and making guttural noises they came at night and butchered the sentries on the walls, and butchered the guards. But then they themselves were killed, but some of them fled, fled back east and with them was a great big black shaggy direwolf, whom Reek recognised, but from where he knew not.

Then three weeks after Lord Ramsay had been sent out to find the Freys, Steelshanks Walton and Daemon Dance for me returned to Winterfell, bloodied and bruised, and without his lordship. They spoke of the great host that Stannis Baratheon had assembled from Deepwood Motte, 5-6000 northmen and southerners along with some 600 wildlings led by Mance Rayder were marching for Winterfell. They had set upon Lord Ramsay’s small part in the Wolfswood and had bloodied and killed the men, his lordship had been badly injured but had fled, to where no one knew. The Freys had been attacked by northmen and southerners caught between the Crofter’s Village and the Tumbledown Tower, caught and massacred.  Fear was writ plain across Lord Bolton’s face. Reek shivered, Winter had finally come for them.

* * *

**Jon**

The wildlings had joined them before they had marched from Deepwood Motte. 600 wildlings south of the wall for the first time since Raymun Redbeard led his failed invasion almost 200 years ago. It turned out that his uncle Benjen had struck a treaty with the wildlings and was having them settle on the gift and help man new castles to help prepare for the oncoming White Walker assault that Mance Rayder claimed was imminent. The man himself was meant to have been burnt in the red woman’s fires, but Stannis Baratheon had spared him for the time being, the reason being that Stannis had said quite forcefully that if the Wildings wished to settle in the north they would have to help the north, and that meant fighting the Boltons just now.

Mance Rayder of course had been kept as far away from Mors Umber as possible, Umber lands were always the first to be hit when Wildlings scaled over the wall and as such they had developed a hatred for each other. But the numbers Mance brought with him greatly bolstered their cause, and strengthened their chances. Stannis had listened to his suggestion and had sent scouts on ahead that could give false information to their captors, and as such when their actually scouts had come back and reported that the Freys were marching from Winterfell, Stannis had sent Ser Godry Farring and 500 men with him to the Crofter’s Village, and Jon had sent Mors Umber with 500 men to the Tumbledown lands to lie in wait. The trick had worked, with the snow and the blizzards, Farring and Mors were able to lead their men and surround the Freys from both sides, and despite the Freys having bigger numbers Mors and Farring came out on top, that battle had been a massacre, for everyone man of Farring and Mors that died, five Freys died.

As Jon had expected Roose Bolton had begun to worry as the time grew on and went from days into weeks and had sent his bastard to see what the delay was. The snows and blizzards had delayed Ramsay Snow and his men, but Jon had heard tales about the man and his impatience, and had known that it would not be too long before he could kill the man who was wed to his little cousin. The bulk of the host had been kept in the middle of the Wolfswood killing what game they could find and preventing any of the scouts the Bastard of Bolton had sent from getting back to him.

They sent the Wildlings in first. Mance Rayder and 600 wildlings screaming and pounding drums and blowing horns, had spooked the Bastard and his men, their attack had come quickly. Flashes of swords and cries and screams were heard throughout the Wolfswood, the wildlings did not last long but they did what they were supposed to they bloodied the bastard’s nose, so that when he marched further north he was caught by more than four times his number. Jon drew Winter’s Fury from its sheath and let loose a war cry, screaming for Winterfell, for Robb, for Bran, For Rickon, for uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn, For Arya, for justice.

He spurred his horse on and cut down the first man he came across. After that the battle became a blur of hacking and slashing. He cut down three men within the first few minutes of the fight. He hacked a man’s arm off, he sliced a man down from navel to stomach, he cut another man’s head off. He kept hacking and slashing, all around him others were doing the same. The screams of battle and pain and agony resounded around the Wolfswood, but Jon did not focus on them no, he was too focussed on killing the men in front of him and of staying alive.

He kept hacking and slashing, his sword piercing through armour and skin alike. Seemingly glowing with the blood it shed, its thirst was not quenched and Jon kept swinging his sword, shouting obscenities as he did so. The battle anger was on him, he kept hacking and slashing and soon both his sword and the ground were stained red. There was hardly anyone left for him to fight.

Ramsay Snow bellowed at him and advanced forward lumbering as he did so, Jon moved forwards to meet him though neither man made any move to strike. Ramsay Snow’s patience snapped and swung his sword, it struck Jon’s sword but the force of the swing caused sparks to fly off the swords. They broke apart; Ramsay Snow swung wildly again, this time though Jon moved to the left before the swing came and left Snow swinging through thin air. Snow turned around and snarled and ran at Jon, Jon sidestepped him and then quickly thrust his sword into Snow’s ribs denting the armour there.

Snow barked in pain, and wheeled round and charged at Jon once more. He swung his sword and this time the force of the swing broke through Jon’s defences and struck his armour denting it and causing blood to begin to flow out. Jon grimaced with the pain, but recovered quickly. Soon he and Ramsay were moving through the snow covered ground exchanging blows, their swords clanging through the air, sparks flying and both men were soon covered in dents and bruises and wounds.

Ramsay Snow feinted to the left, but Jon struck him on his right, and managed to break of a piece of his shoulder plate. Snow grimaced in pain but kept fighting, swinging even more wildly than he had when the fight had started. The man’s swings did sometimes connect with Jon’s body and when they did, Jon felt something like ice hit him, the pain of it causing him to wince and groan in pain. Soon both of their bodies were littered with bruises both visible or otherwise, and both their armours were so dented and stained with red, it looked like so sort of mummer’s show.

They were both breathing heavily, but Snow showed no sign of slowing down and charged at Jon again with his sword raised. Jon managed to swerve away from the sword swing at the last minute, and when Snow turned round and charged him again, Jon brought his sword up to block the man’s blows. Steel on steel, their dance continued. Sparks flew, and steel screeched, around them the battle was beginning to die down but neither noticed, or even if they did they did not care, this battle would not be truly done until one of them was dead.

Jon feinted to the right, Snow followed him and Jon stretched out his left foot causing Snow to overbalance and begin falling as he did though Snow kicked snow into Jon’s face momentarily blinding him, Jon still went through with the thrust though and felt his sword connect with something hard and tough, but then he also felt himself begin to fall backwards, and when his head hit the ground he could not say whether or not he had killed Ramsay Snow or not.

He woke sometime later in a tent, Ghost lying next to the bed. His head pounding in his skull, he tried to get up but the room started spinning and so he flopped back down onto the bed. He closed his eyes, deciding perhaps if he rested for a little while longer he would be better, he slept for the rest of the day. When he woke, the early morning light was beginning to peak through the gap in his tent, his stomach rumbled hungrily. He sat up, and though his head was still pounding he managed to get up and get dressed. Once dressed he walked out of his tent to see what was happening, and what he saw surprised him, they were camped in the Crofter’s Village a half a day’s ride from Winterfell, the hustle and bustle of the people around him surprised Jon, and his head still pounded.

“Lord Stark,” he heard a voice say, and he turned in the direction of the voice and saw King Stannis walking toward him, quickly he bowed. “It is good to see you awake and active again. We were worried that you would not make it.”

Jon was confused. “Not make it? Whatever do you mean Your Grace?”

Stannis looked impatient as he said. “When you fought Bolton’s Bastard you had him on the floor, yes?” Jon nodded. “Well the man threw snow in your face and it got into your eyes, he then rammed you on the head with the backend of his sword forcing you down, but not before you had broken his armour.”

“So is he dead?” Jon asked.

Stannis looked grim when he replied. “No, not that I am aware of. He fled the scene of battle like a craven, though he was bleeding heavily so he most likely is dead.”

“And what of the battle Your Grace? How did that go?” Jon asked.

Stannis looked like he was threatening to smile, though his mouth did not change. “We won. Bolton’s men were destroyed and killed. The Freys were killed. Roose Bolton is outnumbered now; Wyman Manderly’s men found us and have joined our cause. We march for Winterfell.”

And so they did, in the cover of a snow storm and the darkness of the night they marched for Winterfell, Jon’s head still pounding. When they got near enough to it, the men began to swim through the moat and scaled the wall that was how Jon had heard Theon had taken Winterfell the first time. As he watched the men climb over the wall he kept one hand buried in Ghost’s fur, and the other hand on his sword hilt, saying a silent prayer the old gods and the new. He would be the one to kill Roose Bolton; he would avenge Robb and save Arya. When the sound of steel on steel came resounding through the walls and the sound of screams and cries of men in their death throes came and then was silenced, and the gates of Winterfell opened, Jon drew his sword, Ghost howled, and the battle for Winterfell began.

Jon rode his horse through the gates, sword drawn and hacked and slashed at any man who came running toward him, by his side Ghost tore the throat out of any man Jon missed or had not had the chance to kill yet. Soon enough his sword and Ghost’s muzzle were stained red with blood. Jon kept hacking and slashing, beside him he heard the men cry and fight and scream as they fought and some died. Briefly he wondered where Mance Rayder and his wildlings were, but only briefly.

He kept swinging his sword and hacking and slashing at any man who came too near him, until the sword was completely red and the ground was littered with dead bodies. The fighting kept going though, men died screaming in agony as their limbs were chopped off or were hacked off. Bolton it seemed was not willing to give up without a fight, and that would make it all the more interesting for Jon.

Eventually though the men in the yard who bore the sigils of House Hornwood, House Cerwyn, House Manderly, and House Ryswell all threw down their swords and surrendered. Jon was sat atop his grey warhorse as Roose Bolton’s lifeless body was thrown in front of Stannis Baratheon’s horse, a knife through the back, killed by one of his own men.  Stannis looked around him a grim expression on his face, and then he looked at Jon.

Jon spurred his mount forward. “You have fought valiantly; you have fought bravely today my lords. But Lord Bolton is dead, his bastard son is dead. The Boltons rule no more in the North. Bend the knee to me and King Stannis and peace shall come to the north. Bend the knee and give me my cousin.”

The northmen bent the knee as Jon knew they would, the Stark Banner flapping behind him, though he did suspect they bent more to him than to Stannis Baratheon. As he waited for the men to go and get Arya he looked around the Castle, the place that had been his home for six years. It was a ruin, a burnt ruin. Theon Greyjoy had put it to the torch he had heard, and it seemed so, the castle walls were black and ash was on the snowy ground, he felt something painful stir inside of him.

When they brought forth Arya, he saw her shivering wrapped in a cloak of grey, he dismounted from his horse and walked toward her, and when he got close enough to see her, he stopped dead in his tracks. This girl was not Arya; this girl was one of Sansa’s friends, what had been her name Poole? Jeyne Poole that was it. Used as a fake Arya, she had been used to legitimise Bolton’s claim to the north and Winterfell. He felt something sick stir in his stomach, something like anger began to boil, if this was Jeyne Poole where was Arya, where was his little cousin, was she truly dead?

He said none of this out loud though, and he kept his silence all throughout the ceremony where the northmen formerly sworn to Bolton bent the knee to Stannis. He kept his silence as Stannis dissolved Jeyne Poole’s marriage to Ramsay Snow. He kept his silence when his wife and step daughter arrived in Winterfell several days later, and he kept his silence when Theon Greyjoy was presented to him and he swung the sword that ended that traitor’s life.

And when his wife told him she was due very soon he smiled but still he stayed silent. And when Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to every corner of Westeros announcing his victory in the North, still Jon kept his silence. And when the raven came from Storm’s End announcing that somebody pretending to be Aegon Targaryen had taken Storm’s End still he kept his silence, and when preparations were being made for Stannis’s next move still he kept his silence.

He only spoke when his wife put his son, his Stark looking son into his arms and he looked at his boy. He said one thing and one thing only, his son’s name. “Rickard.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Coldness Of A Dark Foreboding

**Alys**

Winter snows were falling around Winterfell. Pure white snow, snow that Alys hadn’t seen since she had been but a wee babe at her mother’s breast. The snow made it hard for any of the rebuilding to be done, and so Winterfell stood a shell of its former glory, basked in snow, the ruins from Greyjoy and Bolton Occupation evident amongst its cracked and crumbling walls. It was something that often made Alys weep and curse the gods in turn. Sometimes she would be standing in her and Jon’s chambers and remember warm summer nights curled up in bed with Robb, would remember laughing with Jon at some lame jape Theon had made, would remember holding Rickon’s hand as he walked and babbled about all that he had learnt. The memories were painful.

Atleast Shiera and Rickard were well, and safe behind whatever had been rebuilt. Since the battle for Winterfell, all those lords who had bent the knee to Roose Bolton had bent their knee again and sworn undying loyalty to Jon and to House Stark, with Bolton dead and Stannis present, they had had no choice but to bend the knee. Though she suspected that Houses Cerwyn, Tallhart, Hornwood and Manderly had all done so willingly, had been more than happy to, perhaps she thought, it was the threat of Bolton and his bastard that had kept them hidden. Dustin and Ryswell had long borne the Starks ire since Lady Barbery had wed Lord Willam some seventeen years ago and the horse not the man had come back from the south with Lord Eddard. Her husband would need to keep an eye on those two houses.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Jon walked into their chambers with a heavy sigh, his brows furrowed. “My Lord.” She said in greeting. They were growing fond of one another, she and Jon, though it was hard for it sometimes felt like she was betraying Robb, and of course there was the ghost of some woman that Jon had not yet seen fit to tell her about, hanging between them as well.

Jon looked at her then, his grey eyes seemingly looking straight into her very soul. “We’ve had reports of skirmishes in Winter Town. More flayed men; it seems that the Bastard of Bolton refuses to die.”

“But surely this must be a copy cat Jon, how could it be the bastard himself? The man was killed fleeing Winterfell.” Alys replied, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

Jon sighed once more. “I know not Alys, truly I do not. The man was seriously wounded whilst we fought, I made sure of that. And yet he escaped me, he threw snow in my face like a craven and left me there to die. I did not kill him, but it is likely there is someone who is still loyal to the brute.”

“Who would remain loyal to him though Jon? The man was a cruel and sadistic man by all accounts. Just ask Jeyne!” She said, almost immediately regretting her words when she saw Jon wince. Her husband still had not gotten over the fact that it had been Jeyne Poole at Winterfell, not his little cousin Arya, no one knew where or what had become of little Arya Stark, Alys prayed that wherever she was, that she was well and healthy.

“I do not know Alys. If I did, do you think I would be standing here? Do you think I would not be out there looking for the bastards who are terrorising my people?!” Jon snapped at her.

The surprise must have shown on her face for Jon immediately became somber and apologetic. “I am sorry Alys that was not good of me, it is not your fault. It’s just so frustrating.” Jon said.

Alys felt sorry on her husband’s behalf and said. “Sit down Jon, please sit down. It’s my duty as your wife to listen to your problems and give you counsel please.” Jon sat down, wincing as he did so, the pain from his wounds still so fresh even though a moon had passed since the battle for Winterfell. Alys got up off her chair and kneeled beside her husband, stroking his curls in a manner she had learnt soothed him. “What is so frustrating Jon? Is it Stannis? Is it his men? Is it my father? Is it the situation up north?”

She heard Jon sigh, and saw him close his eyes when he spoke. “All of it Alys, all of it. Stannis, the bastard of Bolton, his men, the Wall. All of it is so damn frustrating.”

“Talk to me Jon, tell me why. So I can understand.” She said in response.

Jon kept his eyes closed as he spoke. “With the news that Storm’s End has fallen to this pretender calling himself Aegon Targaryen, Stannis wants to march south immediately. The man does not seem to recognise the fact that he himself came very close to dying during the battle for Winterfell, and has not fully recovered yet. He does not seem to realise that the storms and snow will not abate, that by the time we mount some sort of assault for the south, the Targaryen pretender will most likely be sat in King’s Landing. He does not realise that the men are tired and weary of war.”

“So what will you do Jon?” Alys asked, feeling a sense of fear creeping up on her, it was selfish she knew, but if Jon and his men did not march south they could stay here in Winterfell, where they would be safe.

Jon opened his eyes then and his eyes looked so full of pain, Alys wished she could kiss the pain all away. “I will do what I must. Stannis is the rightful king; he is the one who knows of the threats beyond the wall. This Targaryen boy does not, will not aid the Night’s Watch or the north, Stannis will. He must sit the throne he will not accept less than that. And for that to happen we must march south. We must march to the Twins.”

Alys saw her husband’s eyes harden then, in a way they had not done since he had executed Theon Greyjoy for all of the north to see and she felt herself shiver. Jon went on. “I must march for the Twins, Robb and Aunt Catelyn must be avenged. The Freys must pay for their treachery, for their deceit, for their oath breaking.”

Alys felt tears well up in her eyes as she remembered that god’s awful night, the sound of Shiera crying into her chest as she asked where her father was, and why he wasn’t coming with them. She couldn’t lose Jon as well, she would not allow it. “Must you march south Jon? Why not send someone else in your place, like my father?” she asked hating how much it sounded like she was begging him, she was in truth she supposed.

Jon’s eyes hardened at her words. “I will not sit here behind the ruined walls of Winterfell like some whipped cur, whilst your father leads my northmen south to deal out revenge for my family. No, I shall lead the north and I shall be the one to remove Walder Frey’s big fat ugly head from his body. Riverrun must be freed as well.”

“But Jon,” she began.

“But nothing Alys, I will hear no more on this. I will march south with my men and Stannis.” Jon said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Very well then,” Alys said in a formal voice, hating how she had to do this, but knowing it was necessary. “What else is it that troubles you?”

Jon seemed to regret how he had spoke, but as was so often the case he did not seem to know how to phrase his words, for he stumbled over them. “Alys, I.... I did not mean to....... sound so..... it’s just that.... Robb was like my brother.... I wasn’t there when he needed me.... I was at the blasted wall....”

Jon had begun to break with each word he spoke, and Alys felt her formality begin to break away with that, she moved closer to Jon, so close that she was nearly straddling his lap. She put her fingers into his hair and began to scratch it in a reassuring way. “Oh my Jon,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault at all, if King Robert had not been such a coward, but then you may have died at that awful wedding as well, and the lord alone knows what would have happened. No there’s no point in looking backwards Jon, please Jon come back to me, Shiera and Rickard need you, I need you.”

That seemed to pull Jon from whatever dark place he had been in before and he simply looked at her then. After a long moment he said. “Word from across the narrow sea, Daenaerys Targaryen has taken Volantis. She is setting sail for Westeros now according to Stannis’s pirate Salladhor Saan.”

Alys felt herself shiver in Jon’s arms then, another Targaryen coming to Westeros, and this one with dragons. Jon went on. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this Alys, I really don’t.”

Alys looked at her husband then and said fiercely. “Of course you can Jon, I know you can. I believe in you, Robb believed in you. We all believe in you, of course you can do this Jon.” She kissed him on the lips then to show him she truly meant it.

When they broke off, Jon spoke in a much more quiet tone. “There was a letter from Dorne, it must have gotten lost in the storms. It was written by my mother, she says that Sansa and Jeyne are well, and that Uncle Oberyn came back with the Mountain’s head and an eye patch. She did not write of the Targaryen pretender so it is likely an old letter, but she writes that Sansa and one Willas Tyrell met and are getting along like a house on fire. She seems to suspect I may have to arrange a marriage soon.”

Alys nodded; there was something Jon wasn’t telling her. Sure enough he said it after a moment’s silence. “Mother told me that she thinks Jeyne might be dying. Apparently she was struck ill after they came back to Starfall from Sunspear. Grievously ill.”

Alys was about to say something in response to that when they both heard Rickard begin to cry, his shrill screams piercing through the silence.

\---------------------------

Four days later the snow had abated enough for Jon to declare it save enough to ride, and so Alys and her children came to the courtyard along with some of the remaining household staff to see Jon, Ghost, Stannis and their army off to the south. Alys tried to keep the feeling that the last time a northern army had ridden south she had ridden with it and had been with Robb.

Her father embraced her firmly when he came to say goodbye whispering in her ear. “We’ll get revenge for the Young Wolf sweetling. Jon’ll come back to you never worry. And we’ll get Harrion back as well.” He had kissed her cheek and then mounted his horse.

When it had come time for Jon to say goodbye her husband had merely looked at her for the longest moment before formally saying. “My Lady.”

“My Lord” she had said in reply.

Jon had then kissed her cheek and before going had said three words that had sent her head spiralling. “I love you.” He had said, and she had remained silent as a doorstop unsure of what to say or how to respond. Jon had not said anything nor had he looked disappointed, he had merely mounted his horse raised his hand in farewell and then ridden out of the gates to wage war on the south.

After Jon and the men had departed Alys had busied herself with overseeing the rebuilding f Winterfell. She and Jon had talked long and hard about this at Castle Black and then at Last Hearth, they had decided not change anything about the actual castle, it was to be rebuilt looking exactly how it had looked before, the only change being that the Broken Tower, the tower Bran had fallen from was to be rebuilt. Alys had spoken with Lord Manderly, the man who had orchestrated Jon’s successful campaign to retake Winterfell, and had managed to procure from him the relevant materials with which to rebuild Winterfell, with the promise that when Winterfell was ready to repay they could, though Alys feared that would be in a long, long time.

As she watched Winterfell be restored to something akin to its former glory, she did feel something of an ache for old times, when life was so much simpler. It seemed that the rebuilding process only seemed to increase the number of ghosts that already plagued her. When the glass gardens were completed, she could not stop thinking about the first time she and Robb had kissed, during one of the summer snows, and after perhaps one too many cups of summer wine.

When the library was restored she has memories of sneaking kisses with Robb in the little hidiholes he had shown her, places where every Stark in existence had kissed a girl or a boy. She vaguely wondered if her solemn husband Jon had done something like that, and thought that he must have done, he was a handsome enough lad, even more so when he smiled.

The Great Keep and Great Hall were next to be rebuilt, bringing with them both happy and sad memories, happy of the time when her marriage to Robb had occurred and the wedding feast, sad because when the king had come to Winterfell he had torn the Starks apart, and then things had never truly been the same afterwards. Once the great hall is completed, Alys holds a feast to celebrate, it is mainly woman and children and a few green boys and old men who attend the feast, though Lord Wyman does, coming from White Harbour to help.

When it all gets too much, Alys retreats to the godswood to pray. She had never truly been religious as a child growing up, had never really had to be. But then Robb had been religious fervent in his devotion, as was Jon, and so she finds some form of comfort from going to godswood. It seems sometimes as if the trees can hear her words and her prayers, as if the whistling of the trees in the wind is them speaking back to her, answering her prayers. Once or twice she could have sworn she heard her name being called out.

Shiera and Rickard grow very quickly in the months that Jon is away. Shiera turns two and begins speaking, in gibberish first and then proper tongue, so that by the time the snow seems to stop for a wee bit, she can hold a decent conversation for a two year old. She has already become the darling of the household staff, those that were alive when Robb and Jon were babes say how much she echoes them, some even say she seems so similar to Sansa and to Jeyne. Rickard hurries to catch up with his sister; he turns one in the moons that Jon is gone. He walks first and then speaks his first word his “North” followed by “Mama.” Alys swells with pride when she sees her two babes toddling around a rebuilt Winterfell, praying and hoping that they never know suffering.

News comes to the north very, very slowly at first. Jon’s letters are always very brief and too the point. They detail the bitter cold, the heavy snows and the storms, and the barren lands south of the neck. When news reaches them of the Twins, writ in Jon’s hand it is two moons old, the raven delayed by storms. Jon and their men had led the assault on the Twins under the cover of darkness, led in by Howland Reed and his cranongmen who had found a secret way in.  A butchery Jon writes, that’s what he sees it as, not as justice, but a plain and simple butchery. Half of House Frey put to the sword for the crime of being the house that orchestrated the Red Wedding. Stannis was severely injured during the fighting Jon writes, they would have had to have delayed their march on Riverrun for the time being to allow Stannis to rest. Olyvar Frey is named Lord of the Crossing Jon writes, it is apparently thanks to him that Howland Reed and the cranongmen found a secret way in.

The next letter she receives from Jon details Stannis’s injuries being much more fatal than first thought. The man, Jon writes could not lead the charge on Riverrun, had given the task to Jon, and so her husband had led 20,000 pissed of northmen on whatever host held Riverrun, and had put the entire host to the sword, had put its Lord to the sword, and the lords heirs. Jon writes of the nightmares he’s suffering, of the feeling that he’s losing his humanity. That he misses her and the children, that he loves her. Alys writes back to that letter, not knowing whether or not he’ll get it but needing to put the words to paper, she writes she misses him to, that she loves him, that she wants him back home.

She is about to open another letter that has come from Jon when Maester Theo, the second maester at Karhold who had come with her uncle Arnolf, knocked on her door. “My lady,” Theo begins. “Sorry to disturb you but there is someone here to see you. He says its most urgent.”

Alys puts the letter down intrigued. “Where is he waiting did you say Maester Theo?” She asks.

“The guards would not let him into the great keep but he waits outside for you my lady.” Maester Theo says.

 

Alys nods and gets up and follows the man out of her room, down the stairs. When she gets closer to the entrance to great keep and see blood spatter on the floors and walls she becomes fearful. When she sees the hulking hooded man standing in the doorway, she feels something in her give way, she’s seen that build somewhere before.

“Ah my lady,” she hears the hooded man rasp. “So nice of you to come and join us.”

She goes to turn and ask Maester Theo what this man is doing here in her home, but she sees Maester Theo has a sword through his chest. She turns and looks at the hooded man who merely shrugs and says. “The man had played his role. Now come here.”

Alys tries to run and scream, truly she does, but the hooded man is strong, so very strong, and soon she feels something sharp knock her on the back of the head, and then the world turns black.

* * *

 

**Benjen**

Winter is coming; those were the words of the house he had forsaken all those years ago when he had taken the black. Those were the words though, that had kept him going, during those long months in the lands beyond the wall, with food scarce and human contact even scarcer. Those words seemed to have become even more of a reality now as he stood atop the wall, and watched the snow and ice land on the ground. Winter had truly come to Westeros, and had brought with it all kinds of fiercesome things, the like of which had not been seen in Westeros for many, many thousands of years.

The White Walkers and their thralls the wights were marching in ever increasing numbers on the Wall. That had been the reason for Mance Rayder and wildlings fleeing south, the ever encroaching presence of death and its minions. As of yet, there had been no sightings of the White Walkers anywhere near Castle Black, Eastwatch or even the Shadow Tower, though it was quite clear that they were close by for there had been sightings of an increasing number of wights close to the wall. During the night, Benjen had ordered that there be more men on the walls with fire arrows ready, they had been caught out once already, a wholesale slaughter of men stationed at Westwatch, it would not happen again Benjen would make sure of that.

He had had Maester Aemon and Clydas perusing through the various books and tomes that occupied the library at Castle Black, to see if they could find anything, any scrap of information that could prove invaluable to helping them defeat the White Walkers. So far the only thing that they had been able to find was that the White Walkers could be slain by dragon steel, what that was Benjen knew not. Nor did it seem Maester Aemon, they were both confused as to whether the tome refereed to dragon glass, weapons which they had found in some supply hidden deep underneath the vaults of Castle Black, or if it meant Valyrian steel, the making of such weapons had been lost during the doom. Benjen had written to the Tarly boy, the one Jon had sent south to the Citadel, to see if he had been able to find anything that could perchance be of use to them. The Tarly boy had not found anything that they had not with regards to the White Walkers, though he did write in his letter, the discovery of some sort of prophecy, which could perhaps why the White Walkers had become active again after so long. What this prophecy was, Tarly had not mentioned, but Benjen had become curious, though with all he had to do, there was not much more thought he could give to some prophecy and so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

 

Before Benjen could sink any further into his depressing thoughts, he heard someone say “My Lord.” Turning round to see who it was who had spoken, Benjen found himself face to face with Bowen Marsh, the first steward of the Night’s Watch. Marsh had been on the Wall for a long time, he had already been around for some ten or so years when Benjen had taken the black, what he had done to take the black Benjen knew not, but after his years in the Watch he knew it could not be for honour, Benjen had his own reasons for joining the Watch and therefore had never pried to closely when speaking with Marsh, he did not need old hurts brought up. Not now especially, Marsh was a capable if a somewhat feeblish steward who knew how to fight, and how to keep the men stocked and supplied.  Benjen looked at the man and could see the tiredness on his face that was surely reflected on his own, this job was taking its toll on all of them, and yet they would bear its burden with not complaint they had to, it was their duty. “The last of the dragon glass from the vaults beneath the castle have been mined and brought up to stay where you asked.”

Benjen nodded that was good, the more dragonglass they had the better prepared they would be for whatever it was that the White Walkers were waiting for. “That is good Bowen,” Benjen said. “What reports from across the wall?”

Benjen heard the first steward swallow loudly, and felt nerves begin to boil inside of him surely nothing bad could have happened? Bowen spoke, but his voice shook as it did. “A rider came from Eastwatch just now bearing bad tidings. Of what he would not say, but he specifically asked to speak with you my lord.”

Benjen felt the tension inside of him worsen at the man’s words, trying to school his face into a blank mask he said. “Very well Bowen, lead on.” And so the two of them descended down the winch cage and walked to where the man was waiting near the foot of the King’s Tower. One look at the man, was enough to near enough confirm Benjen’s fears, the man was covered in dirt and blood, whether it was his own or that of another’s Benjen could not tell, and he doubted whether or not the man could. “You wished to speak with me?”

The Black brother looked around quickly, his eyes darting from side to side before he spoke. “Yes my lord commander. I bring grave tidings from Greenguard.”

Benjen’s eyes narrowed. “Greenguard? I was led to believe that you were from Eastwatch.”

The man took a deep breath before speaking. “Well I am from Eastwatch my lord, but I was sent with a band of twenty men to scout out along the Greenguard area, we found bodies my lord, hundreds upon hundreds of bodies. Wildlings, black brothers, even some of those men that didn’t ride south with King Stannis my lord. And when darkness fell as we were burning some of the bodies, those that weren’t burnt, rose up and fought us, it was a massacre my lord.” The man had a faraway look in his eyes by the time he had finished speaking.

Benjen felt his gut begin to twist at the man’s words. “How did you escape then?”

The man looked up and said. “I don’t know my lord, it was as if the wights did not see me there. It was if, they would simply walk past me. I didn’t question it my lord, I simply got on my horse and rode as fast as I could for here.”

Benjen nodded at the man, then turning round to speak with Bowen Marsh said. “Bowen see to it that this man is given a room for the night and is fed and kept warm.”

Once he heard Marsh agree to do as asked, Benjen walked past the man to his room, in the Lance Tower, as he closed the door and sat down in a chair by the fire, he sighed deeply and let his thoughts run wild. Hundreds of dead people, near Greenguard, that was not good, it was likely that the wights would be advancing either east or west, if they moved south Benjen dreaded what would happen. Jon would have taken the whole strength of the north with him when he marched south with Stannis, leaving no one behind to defend the north from the perils beyond the wall. Benjen would have to lead the men on a patrol to both sides of the wall to try and make sure that nothing got out, otherwise....

His thoughts were disrupted by a knock on the door, calling for whomever it was to come in, Benjen found himself looking at Stannis’s red woman, the Lady Melisandre. The red woman, Benjen knew his men called her, the red witch the free folk called her. Whatever she was, she seemed to have driven up some kind of devotion from that mad bat that Stannis had for a wife, and had somehow managed to convince Stannis that he was some hero of legend, how she had done it Benjen had no idea, but he knew one thing for sure he did not like her, nor did he trust her.

“My lady, what may I do for you?” Benjen asked, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice.

The ruby she wore at her throat pulsed as she moved into his room. “I have heard about the wights sighted at Greenguard my lord.”

Benjen had to keep the sarcasm from his tone when he replied. “Did you not see it in your fires then?”

Melisandre smiled at him then and said enigmatically. “The fires do not reveal all to me, but what happened at Greenguard was common sense. They are getting closer my lord, and it is time that they learnt that we have fire in our midst as well.”

Benjen felt his face screw up in annoyance, not this again, why did she always have to bring this up? “I am sorry my lady but I cannot do that. You are to remain in your quarters as much for your safety as for that of the men.”

“And what good would that do us, when the White Walkers come south, as they must?” she asked in that infuriating tone of hers.

Benjen had to bite back a sharp retort, and instead merely said. “My answer remains the same my lady.”

She smiled sadly at him then and said. “Then you will come to rue your decision my lord, for there will come a time when his grace will fight a pretender, the dark one whose name should be mentioned and you will find yourself caught. Between the hammer and the anvil.” With those words she swooped from his room, leaving him feeling haunted, how had she known about that saying? The saying that had been in his family for as long as Benjen could remember? How, she could not know what it truly meant could she? Who was this Melisandre and what did she truly want?

Five days later as Benjen was walking toward the wall, he heard the sound of horns being blown, once, twice, thrice. And he felt a fear stir in his gut, a primal fear. Running to get his sword and some fire arrows, Benjen saw his men do the same, and soon they were all gathered round the winch cage waiting for their turn to go up, with the sound of the horns echoing in their heads and the sound of arrows being fired. When Benjen got to the top of the wall, he saw the land beneath him crawling with wights and giants and spiders, and what looked disturbingly like a wolf-man half breed, a giant one at that. All coming towards the wall. Destruction was heading toward them and quickly.


	14. Sounds Of A Playground Fading

**Jon**

The march south was long and gruelling. 12,000 northmen had ridden south with Jon’s cousin Robb to free the only man that Jon had ever known as a father figure- Eddard Stark- Lord Eddard had been killed, executed on the orders of King Joffrey the ill born, before Robb and the northmen could come to his aid. Robb himself had won every battle he had ever fought in, but had been betrayed by the Freys, killed at his uncle Edmure’s wedding, arrows had pierced his body, that was what Jon had been told of the even by Alys and the other northmen who had managed to escape that thrice damned wedding. Lady Catelyn had had her throat slit apparently. The mere thought of House Frey sent Jon’s blood curdling, they would pay for their crimes against House Stark, against Robb and Aunt Catelyn, they would pay, and he would make sure of it.

Discussions on how to take the Twins raged long into the night. Some like Mors Umber were all for marching straight up to the walls of the Twins and tearing it down brick by brick and then sauntering into the ruins of the castle and killing every single Frey that came into sight. Whilst Jon could understand where the man was coming from, he knew that doing such a thing would not only be time consuming, it would also cost them a lot of men, men who would be needed if they were to stand a hope in hell of taking Riverrun back. And so Jon listened most attentively in council one night when Stannis Baratheon spoke. “The Twins shall not fall by common means. Old Lord Walder will be cautious more so now than he has ever had reason to be, before. No we must find a way into the Twins without giving away our position. We must not let them see how few men we truly have.”

Jon knew that many of the northmen did not like to use methods of deceit to try and force their way into a castle that by all rights and purposes should have been torn down long ago, hell Jon didn’t even approve of what Stannis was suggesting, and he knew that Stannis Baratheon did not like it even more. The quandary they were facing was how were they to sneak into the Twins without giving away their position that was an issue that was debated fiercely for some time. Until one day as they approached the Neck and they were greeted by the famous and elusive cranongmen, who were led by a man who was short of stature, had brown hair and dark green eyes, eyes that seemed to look deep into your very soul.

“Greetings Your Grace, Lord Stark. Welcome to the Neck. I trust all has been well for you during this testing time and weather.” The man said, in a sing song type voice, that Jon swore he had heard before.

Stannis it seemed was in no mood to exchange pleasantries with the man for he replied rather brusquely. “Lord Reed, whilst I appreciate the greeting, we have a war to fight and therefore would appreciate any services you would be willing to offer.”

Jon felt something within him tense at the man’s name. So this was the famous Lord Howland Reed, who had fought alongside his uncle all those years ago during Robert’s Rebellion, and had been the only other person alongside Jon’s uncle to survive the skirmish at the Tower of Joy, the man had not left his home at Greywater Watch since the rebellion, so Jon was deeply surprised that he would have left it now.

Howland Reed merely smiled at Stannis, and said. “Why of course Your Grace, I do in fact have something that could be of much use to you in your battles to come. Freys.”

Jon heard the murmuring amongst his men at the word Frey, and felt curiosity begin to well up inside of him, as well as the usual anger that appeared whenever the Frey name was mentioned. He spurred his horse on after Lord Howland with Stannis riding beside him. They stopped their horses when Lord Howland stopped is near a great big mass of swamp, when Lord Howland whistled and three cranongmen appeared alongside two men bearing the twin towers of House Frey, Jon felt his anger start to rise, and beside his horse Ghost began to growl threateningly.

Lord Howland seemed unperturbed by Ghost, and simply turned his horse around to look at both Stannis and Jon and said. “Your Grace, my Lord. I give you Ser Perwyn Frey and Olyvar Frey of House Frey. My men found them wandering around the swamps some days ago, and when we received word of you marching south, we decided to hold them for you to speak with. I think you will find what they have to say most interesting.”

Olyvar Frey had been Robb’s squire and one of his friends Alys had told Jon during one of their days spent together in Last Hearth. The man had not been present when the wholesale slaughter at the Twins had occurred, but neither had he tried to warn Robb, if he had, Jon’s cousin may still have been alive now. Jon was about to tell Stannis not to bother listening to the two men who bore the name of the house he hated almost as much as the Lannisters, but Stannis Baratheon merely looked at the two men for a long time, before saying. “Speak then, and be quick about it.”

It was the taller and broader of the two men- whom Jon would later learn was named Ser Perwyn- who spoke. “Your Grace, we have come to bring you information of a way to enter the Twins without too much suffering being inflicted upon your men.”

“And why should I trust the word of you, Frey?” Stannis asked.

“Because Your Grace,” Ser Perwyn said. “This is the only way that you can assuredly succeed in taking our home.”

“And why would you want me to do that Frey? You, who betrayed the Young Wolf and killed him and his men under your roof breaking the sacred laws of Guest Right,?” Stannis asked.

“There was no honour in what was done at that thrice damned wedding. You would be a fool to trust these two Your Grace.” Mors Umber said.

“Aye Your Grace, better to kill these two now or take them hostage then listen to their lies.” Rickard Karstark argued.

Ser Perwyn unperturbed by the insults being dealt to his house or honour merely said. “Aye there was no honour in what was done at my sister’s wedding, aye my family broke many sacred laws and our oaths to our king. But our father is old and weary now, he has betrayed his family too many times, we are tired and broken and wish to make up for sins both new and old. We are giving you the chance to free us from our servitude Your Grace, will you heed us or not?”

“Speak then Frey, but tell no lies for I shall see through deception.” Stannis Baratheon said.

Perwyn Frey swallowed nervously and then spoke. “ There is an entrance into the Twins from underneath the Water Tower, that will lead straight into a passageway, once the passageway one need only knock on the door twice to be let in, and find themselves outside the doors of the Great Hall. Our Lord father has of late sat in the Great Hall many a time, to decide the succession of the Twins, whomsoever sets foot in the Great Hall shall find him weakly defended. Our forces are either in Seagard with Black Walder or with Emmon at Riverrun.”

Jon heard the lords of the north murmur behind him; this was interesting news, the Twins weakly defended, and most of the men of House Frey away with Black Walder or with that prancing fool Emmon Frey? Things were beginning to look up for their hopes. Jon though had his doubts, and he voiced them. “And how do you suggest then Ser Perwyn that we get our men into the castle through this passageway you describe, when it is likely your father will have men on the walls looking for just a thing?”

Jon had to hand it to Ser Perwyn, though he was constantly being questioned, he did not falter in his resolve. “I would suggest that sending His Grace King Stannis to speak with whomever it is that my lord father sends out to treat with you, shall be enough of a distraction to allow those chosen to sneak into the castle undetected.”

There was much more murmuring after that as all the lords tried to have their say, either cautioning against sending Stannis out to speak with the Freys, ‘a treacherous lot, all of them’ was Mors Umber’s description of them. Eventually Stannis spoke and silenced all the chatter. “Very well then, we shall do as you have suggested Ser Perwyn I shall speak with your traitorous family, and send twenty men in through the Water Gate. Await for me at first light tomorrow.” With that Stannis rode away back to their tents and camp, Jon waited for a moment looking at Ser Perwyn and the man who had been Robb’s squire trying to determine whether or not there was any trickery being done here, when he could not detect any he nodded at them and rode off after his king.

As soon as they had arrived back at camp and had freshened up Stannis called a council, and Jon sat at his right hand side in the main command tent. “We shall follow Ser Perwyn’s advice,” Stannis said. “I shall go and treat with whomsoever those traitors send to treat with me. Who shall be brave enough to go into the Water Tower and slit Lord Walder’s throat?”

There was a cry amongst the younger heads of the northern army, those men who had been boys when Jon’s cousin had marched south all those years ago all jumped at the chance to infiltrate the Twins and win glory for themselves and their house. Through it all Jon remained silent, content to listen to the green boys- it felt so strange to think of them as that, having only fought in three battles him- argue and postulate why they were the best for such a mission.

Eventually he had heard enough and said. “I will go, and I will go alone.”

There was much more murmuring and outcry when he said those words. “But my lord you cannot go in alone. It is too dangerous!” Lord Ryswell argued.

“Aye my lord,” Donnel Condon argued. “It is too risky for you to go in alone, more men would be required.”

Jon merely looked at the men, his men and said. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Walder Frey betrayed my family, and I mean to make him pay for it. Those guards won’t be with him when I get to him, they will be out on the walls looking at King Stannis. I will take him and I will kill him.”

With that he left the tent and made his way over to his own, Ghost following at his heels. He sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands and tried to keep the fear that was threatening to escape him at bay. He knew what he had just volunteered to do was near suicide, but he did not want anymore northmen dying for him, his countrymen had died enough already, they had already paid a heavy enough price; this was for him to do, and for him alone.

He went to bed that night dreaming of Alys and their children and a rebuilt Winterfell.

* * *

 

Morning came too early for Jon’s liking, as he got up and changed he said a quick prayer to the old gods, that he would be successful today, that they would be successful today, and that there would be no more northern losses in this godforsaken south. Having said his prayers he strapped Winter’s Fury to his back, and walked from the tent, dressed in pale blue plate and mail, with his wolf’s head helm in his arms. He strode toward his horse and found Lord Howland waiting for him, Ghost bounded up to the man and merely cocked his head up at him, his red eyes staring straight into the man’s green ones.

“Lord Howland, I did not expect you to be here now at this early hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Jon asked.

Lord Howland merely gave Jon a wry smile and said. “When you come back from this mission we must needs speak Lord Stark.” And with that Jon watched Howland Reed walk away from his horse and into the early morning mist, leaving Jon wondering what it was that he could need to speak of with Jon.

As the hour ticked by, Jon could feel himself growing restless, he waited for the red knights that had come with Stannis Baratheon on his march south- Justin Massey, Richard Thorpe, Glendon Fell the most prominent amongst them- say their prayers to that red god, whose power Jon did not fully comprehend, though he knew the feelings he felt as the embers died in the fire, and he did not like them one bit. When the time came, Stannis Baratheon came out of his own tent, fully dressed in black and gold plate and mail of his house, and walked toward Jon. The man stopped some feet away from him and merely looked at him for a long moment, before saying. “Success Stark.” Before he too walked away.

Jon knowing that the time was now or never, donned his wolf’s head helm and walked toward the place where it had been agreed he would meet Ser Perwyn.  Finding Ser Perwyn there already dressed in a hooded cloak, Jon merely nodded at the man and then followed him through the thick swamps and marshes that made up the neck. When the Twins came into sight, Jon felt something deep inside of him begin to boil, he would avenge Robb and Aunt Catelyn, and he would most surely do so.

Following Ser Perwyn deeper through the marshes and the bog, they came to the Water Tower, which was where Ser Perwyn stopped and turned round and said to Jon- who had kept his visor firmly on- “This is where we part my lord, gods willing you be successful. Follow the passageway to its end and knock twice, my men will be waiting for you on the end.”

Jon nodded, and waited for Ser Perwyn to leave before he climbed through the little hole in wall of the Water Tower; the light disappeared the minute his feet found the ground in the hole. Opening his visor, Jon walked along the dark dank passage, feeling his way across the walls to judge how far away he was from the end. He stumbled once or twice, tripping over what he thought were bones and the remains of animals. Once or twice he could have sworn he heard the sound of feet pattering along the cobbles on the floor of the passageway, and his thoughts turned toward Gendel’s children north of the wall, always hungry, and internally he shivered.

Eventually the end came into sight, and Jon breathed a sigh of relief when the door, which had the engravings of the two towers of House Frey and what seemed to be a direwolf, engraved on it. Jon did as he had been bid and knocked twice on the door, the sound reverberating around the passage. The door opened seconds after the second knock, and Jon found himself looking at two men bearing the sigil of House Lannister, Jon felt something within him clench- had Perwyn betrayed them? Or had he been betrayed? - The Lannister men laughed and said “Oh look here, a bastard come to slit Old Lord Walder’s throat, where’s his support?”

Jon drew winter’s Fury from his back and leapt out of the passageway as quickly as he could, and in one stroke had slashed one of the men’s throat’s open, as the man fell bleeding to the ground, he cut off the other man’s head and as it fell from his body, Jon ran on toward the Great Hall. He cut his way through the two guards who stood there, they feel easily and Jon felt his blood sing with their deaths. He barged into the Great Hall to find it nearly completely deserted, apart from a man standing at the foot of the throne, dressed in blue, but built like a bull. Ser Hosteen Frey, the man had escaped the north and the slaughter that had occurred at Winterfell.

“Heh, would you look at that Hosteen, the Stark bastard has come to the Twins.” The shrivelled old man that would be Walder Frey said.

Jon merely looked at the man sitting on the throne, and felt much hatred and anger build up within him, that he could not speak. His hands tightened around Winter’s Fury- which was still slick with the blood of the four men Jon had killed- he stepped forward toward the throne and found his way blocked by Ser Hosteen.

“Heh,” Lord Walder cackled. “I won’t make it so easy for you to kill me bastard. Kill Hosteen and then we shall see.”

Hosteen Frey- a brute of a man- drew his sword and charged at Jon. Jon raised Winter’s Fury up as quickly as he could and felt the clanging of steel on steel, as it jarred its way up his shoulders.  They broke apart and went back at it, swinging and hacking at each other in a frenzied dance, cutting and slashing at one another. A knick by Ser Hosteen opened up a cut on Jon’s shoulder. A slash by Jon opened up a dent in Hosteen’s armour. Back and forth it went, both men giving no quarter to the other, hacking, slashing, cutting, ducking and dodging until Jon finally found a opening and struck at Ser Hosteen with such force that he broke the man’ sword, then he plunged his own sword deep within the man’s throat.

As Jon pulled his sword out of Ser Hosteen Frey and advanced toward the throne where Old Walder Frey sat, Hosteen Frey gurgled his way to his death, and Walder Frey looked like he had seen a ghost.  Gone was the mocking tone that the man had had, it had been replaced by ice cold fear, Ghost who had been silent until then advanced with Jon and growled threateningly at the old man.

“Walder Frey, you have committed a crime of great treason. Not only did you betray your king, but you broke all the sacred laws of gods and men, when you had my cousin, your King, Robb Stark killed under your roof attending his cousin’s wedding. For this crime, I sentence you to death, and claim you life as forfeit.” Jon said, his voice laced with ice.

For once it seemed that Walder Frey did not have some snide remark at hand, instead he simply ogled at Jon, and said aloud. “Who are you? What are you?”

Jon smiled a grim smile at the man and said “I am Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I have come to avenge my cousin and aunt, and in the name of King Stannis Baratheon I do hereby sentence you to die.” With that Jon spared no more words and advanced up the last few steps toward where Walder Frey sat unable to move on his throne, and Jon plunged his sword deep within the man’s chest.  Even after he had pulled the sword from Walder Frey’s lifeless body, Jon stood in front of the throne, not moving, his sword in one hand, his other hand buried in Ghost’s fur, as if his direwolf could anchor him to the present, even as memories of playing with Robb and Jeyne in Winterfell flew past in his head, even as the memories of when he had said goodbye to Robb that long ago day, Robb with melting snowflakes in his hair.

Jon’s thoughts were interrupted when the doors of the great hall of the Twins flew open, turning round to see who it was, Jon saw himself looking at Mors Umber, the man was caked in dirt and blood. Jon saw Mors look at Jon then at the lifeless body of Walder Frey, and saw him snort and say “Finally that old bugger is dead.” Before he moved toward the throne, Ghost growled at him, but the man simply said “His Grace is asking for you my lord of Stark. He’s in the guest chamber not far from here.”

Jon merely nodded, and sheathing his sword, he walked from the throne and down the steps, Ghost on his heels. He followed Mors Umber toward the room where Stannis Baratheon was in silence not asking what had happened at the parley, he found out soon enough as it was when he entered the room. There lying on the bed, his armour covered in a litany of arrows and dents and bruises was Stannis Baratheon.

Stannis’s eyes opened when Jon stood next to him. “Stark,” his voice sounded hoarse and pained. “Did you kill him?”

“Yes Your Grace.” Jon replied, his own voice sounding rather hoarse.

“Good, that is good.” Stannis Baratheon said before he was wracked with a coughing fit.

“His Grace should have some rest now.” Maester Willam – the army maester who had been with Stannis’s men since the wall- said.

“Rest, yes rest leave me now.” Stannis whispered.

Jon left the room, and it was then and only then that he turned and spoke with Mors Umber. “What happened Mors? There were two Lannister guardsmen waiting for me when I came out of the passageway, did Perwyn betray us?”

Crowfood looked somber as he spoke. “Ser Perwyn was hung from the battlements when Stannis Baratheon came to treat with the Freys. One of his own kin had found out and had betrayed him. It was Olyvar Frey who was sent to treat with us, Stannis said as he said he would, and when Olyvar rode back to go inside the Twins, their archers fired at him and Stannis. Olyvar was killed Stannis got away lightly, but we were set upon by Black Walder and some 2000 Freys. They had been hiding around the castle woodlands. It was only because of Lord Reed and his frog men that we lived to tell the tale; they attack Black Walder’s men from the east. The man himself fled with some 500 men, but the rest were killed and put to sword as were half the male Freys of fighting age.”

Jon closed his eyes as he heard what Crowfood had to say, and he felt a sense of despair engulf him, they had been betrayed by someone. “How many men did we lose?”

“400 men my lord. Roger and Roose Ryswell were amongst the notable who died.” Crowfood replied.

Jon sighed. There was still so much to be done and so little time with which to do it in.

* * *

 

Two weeks since they had taken the Twins and Stannis Baratheon’s health seemed to be rapidly detoriating, the man could barely speak for more than a few seconds and when he could, he often had to stop speaking so that he could cough up blood. It was deeply worrying, Shireen and Lady Selyse were still in Winterfell safe and secure, but with winter here and the things from beyond the wall marching closer and closer to the wall and with Ramsay Snow still somewhere out on the loose, Jon was beginning to think that perhaps it would be best if they simply marched back south. But of course he had sworn to Stannis that he would march south and help him take the Twins and free Riverrun, and he intended to do just that. With Stannis being nearly unable to do anything more than cough, Jon had taken it upon himself to lead the northmen and whatever southern knights had survived the battles. Jon had had the lords and knights taken prisoner during the Red Wedding freed, which included the Greatjon Umber, Ser Kyle Condon and Ser Ronnel Stout and roughly 100 other noble men and knights from the north.

Jon had also overseen the execution of those Freys who had been part of the Red Wedding, and the sending of other Freys either to the Wall or to the Silent Sisters. With Perwyn and Olyvar dead, Jon had a difficult decision to make, whether or not to completely tear down the Twins or give it to someone he knew would be loyal to Stannis and House Tully once they were restored to their rightful place in Riverrun. It was during such discussions with the other lords that Jon often felt like he didn’t belong, like it should have been Robb here doing this instead of him, Robb with his easy way with words and his easy way with people, Robb most definitely would have known what to do, would know exactly how Riverrun would need to be freed and who could be trusted to hold the Twins, Jon did not know and he could not help but think that he was being a poor lord and commander by not knowing.

Eventually it was decided that they would leave the Twins in the hands of Mors Umber who would hold it until Riverrun had been taken and secured. Jon marched from the Twins with some 5000 men and sent out scouts at every possible option trying to gauge what exactly he would face. From what the scouts reported, Black Walder had fled not to Seagard but to Riverrun with his 500 men, and from what Lord Mallister reported to Jon when they met him near Oldstones, Riverrun was held by a mere garrison of 1000 men, the rest of the men having gone back to the Westerlands or having dispersed with the disappearance of the Kingslayer. Good tidings indeed, Jon thought for it would make their job that much easier.

The battle itself was fought not within sight of Riverrun but in the Whispering Wood. Hacking and slashing, cutting, ducking, dodging and blocking. Jon fought the Freys and the Lannister men still at Riverrun and he made damn sure that he was the one killing the notable commanders, Ryman Frey, Edwyn Frey, Walder Rivers all fell to his sword. He felt a sort of savage pleasure from watching them fall to his sword. He cut his way through the hordes of Lannister and Frey soldiers and kept fighting no matter the cuts and dents he himself was taking. He hacked and slashed until his sword was covered in blood and the ground was littered with bodies. The battle of the Whispering Wood ended when Jon plunged his sword deep into Black Walder’s throat and pulled it out and let loose a animal like howl, that was answered by thousands of northmen and Ghost.

When they reach Riverrun’s gates they are presented with Ser Emmon Frey’s head and Genna Lannister in chains as well as their children. Jon takes one long look at them and orders them placed in rooms with guards on them. He then stalks into the castle, and allows for there to be a feast to celebrate their victory, though he, himself remains aloof and slightly solemn during the feast, the thoughts of all the blood and horror haunting him even when awake. As well as the thought that Robb once came to Riverrun after a successful victory and how that ended for him.

Later once the celebrations are done and a new day has dawned, Jon has Riverrun’s maester send out ravens to the Twins and to Winterfell to inform them of the taking of Riverrun. Jon learn from a letter left by Daven Lannister some two moons ago that because of the winter snows Edmure Tully is being kept in the Golden Tooth, bringing back memories of Roslin Frey, the man’s wife, she had been very, very heavy with child when Jon had seen her last, carrying the heir to Riverrun, Jon had ordered her kept in the Twins till Edmure had been freed, then the man could do what he liked with her, it was not his problem.

They spend a moon in Riverrun allowing the castle to be set to rights, and Jon learns that Aegon Targaryen has sealed an alliance with Dorne, and that Daven Lannister will more than likely be marching through to defend King’s Landing. With winter here though, Jon sincerely doubts that that will happen. He learns that Cersei Lannister and Margaery Tyrell have had their names cleared by the Faith, though it is the Tyrells who are firmly in control of King’s Landing now. He does not have the chance to speak with Howland Reed about whatever it was the man wished to speak with him about before the Twins, Jon does not have the time actively seek the man out, and the man does not seek him out and so Jon is left wondering whatever it was. But such thoughts are put out of his head when he receives a letter with the flayed man of Bolton on it, written in the hand of the bastard of Bolton, and the words he writes send chills and anger down Jon’s spine. His wife captured, his son and step daughter dead. His mind is made up.

* * *

 

**Ashara**

“This man claims to be Aegon Targaryen, and offers no proof except for the word of a man long believed dead himself and the fact he has taken Storm’s End and you wish to do what?” Ashara asked her brother.

“Find out for myself whether this man is whom he claims to be, and whether or not Jon Connington truly lives.” Her brother replied.

“Hmm,” Oberyn snorted. “So you would abandon your family once more, to go and serve a dragon who may not even be a dragon.”

Ashara sees her brother bristle and knows what is about to come next. “This so called dragon could be your nephew if he is real.”

“And how would you know that Arthur, Aegon was a mere babe when he died. And you were not even in King’s Landing for half of the rebellion.” Ashara says and immediately she regrets it when she sees the look of pain that crosses her brother’s face.

“I know,” Arthur whispers and Ashara knows he is thinking of Elia and little Rhaenys. “I simply wish to represent Dorne to this would be king that is all.”

“There will be no need for that.” Doran says his voice laced with tiredness. “Oberyn shall be going to Storm’s End to see who this man is and whether or not my nephew lives or not. If he is suitably convinced then Dorne shall finally enter this war.”

And with that their little meeting comes to an end. Ashara and Arthur walk toward their rooms talking in hushed tones as they do. “Why did you really wish to go to Storm’s End Arthur? Aegon was never yours, not like Rhaenys was.”

When her brother remains silent, Ashara feels something akin to horror stir inside of her. “You could not mean to go there and tell them about Jon? Surely not Arthur?” she exclaims. Her brother remains quiet and so she goes on. “Jon Connington was always so jealous of Elia and the fact she held Rhaegar’s heart in a way he never could, and when he ran away with Lyanna that destroyed him even more. The man would more than likely wish to kill Jon than allow him to continue to live. And this boy, even if he is Aegon, he will not Jon to live, Jon will serve as the humiliation that Rhaegar did to his mother, and if not then will always be a source of questioning as to whether he himself is legitimate. Arthur tell me you didn’t want to tell them of Jon, we both made a promise not to!”

Arthur merely looks at her and says. “I cannot live a lie anymore Ashara, either this boy is real or not, if not then Jon is the rightful king. He deserves to know the truth.” And with that her brother walks away from her and back to his own room.

When they return to Starfall, Ashara loses track of her worries about the mission to Storm’s End and instead spends time keeping an eye on Sansa Stark and Willas Tyrell. The two seem to be completely besotted with each other. Sansa seems to have come out of her shell since Willas Tyrell arrived at Starfall two moons ago, she seems much more confident in herself and much more happier and willing to smile. Ashara can see much of Ned in her, true she looks like Catelyn Tully, but she has much of Ned’s inner goodness in her and his desire to smile and make people laugh. She suspects that very soon she shall have to write to Jon and tell him about what has been going on between his cousin and Willas Tyrell, for it does seem as if a betrothal and a marriage could be coming up very, very soon.

Jeyne, her lovely precious daughter seems to have recovered slightly if not completely from her illness, and seems to be back to her usual self. Though Ashara has seen her daughter looking at Sansa and Willas from her room, a look of jealousy on her face, and Ashara feels her heart go out to her daughter then, she knows what Elia went through with her health and the constant feelings that she wasn’t good enough, Ashara deeply hopes her daughter does not feel like that, that she knows how much she is loved and wanted here. Just as Jeyne seems to be getting better, winter arrives in all its might in Dorne and she falls grievously ill, so ill in fact that Maester Wallan tells Ashara one day that it is possible she might not survive this latest illness and Ashara cries and cries and cries, like she hasn’t since she learnt Elia died. She knows not where Jon is, where the son of her heart is, whether he be in Winterfell now or the south getting revenge for his fallen family, wherever he is, Ashara knows he will want to be here, to be with Jeyne and herself during this difficult time, and even though she knows she is being selfish, she writes a letter and sends it to Winterfell, and hopes and prays that Jon gets here whilst Jeyne still lives.

Eventually word trickles down from the Riverlands; her Jon had led the assault that had taken the Twins and Riverrun back from the Freys and the Lannisters. But she also hears that the Bastard of Bolton holds his wife and children, and so he marches north, and she weeps more, she prays to the Seven that they keep Jon and his children and wife safe, that they keep Jeyne alive, that they help her get better. She knows not whether her prayers will make much difference, after all she prayed fervently during the rebellion and yet her father, and her uncle and Elia still died. Still she prays because that is all she can do, Jeyne is in a deep sleep, but still it is not clear whether or not she will ever wake up from this sleep or not.

During all of this turmoil and chaos, she receives a raven from Doran informing her that he has formally declared for Aegon and that the boy wishes to meet Sansa Stark, and she senses trouble on the horizon as she remembers the last time Ice and Fire met and what happened to the realm then.


	15. Of Dead Memories and A Griffin

**Jon Connington**

Storm’s End was a large castle, an impenetrable fortress, built by Durran Godsgrief, the first Storm King, it had never fallen to siege or by conquest, until now. Word of Aegon’s capturing of Storm’s End had sent shockwaves flying across the Stormlands and the rest of the kingdom, now people were beginning to take them seriously, and Aegon’s declaration that he be named Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, had surprised and shocked him. Jon knew that he was Aegon’s hand, that was an unwritten thing, had always been expected to be the case, but being named Lord of Storm’s End, now that was something he had not expected, had not expected at all. He had asked Aegon about it much later, after the feast to celebrate their victory had been held and done with.

_“Congratulations on your victory, Your Grace.” Jon had said when he and Aegon had been left alone in the Lord’s Solar._

_“It’s our victory Jon, our victory and it brings us one step closer to taking King’s Landing.” Aegon had replied, a smile on his face._

_“Yes, be that as it may, I have a question for you.” Jon had replied then trying to keep whatever it was that was building inside of him._

_Aegon took a sip from his wine glass. “Go on Jon.”_

_Jon swallowed nervously and then had said. “Why did you make me Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands Your Grace?”_

_“Because Jon, I trust you more than anyone else. Because these Stormlords will never submit to anyone else, not with that usurper Stannis Baratheon dying wherever he is, and his daughter nowhere near as good as maturity. I need a man who I know is loyal to me and only me, who will ensure that these bunch of rowdy Baratheon followers are kept in line.” Aegon had said._

_Jon had sighed, his boy had learnt how to play the game then it seemed but there was still something about the appointment that was nagging at him. “But you do know of course Your Grace, that there are houses here in the Stormlands that will have a superior claim to Storm’s End through the female line than myself or my house. Why not simply make me Lord of Griffin’s Roost and name me Lord Paramount of the Stormlands through that?” Jon asked trying to see whether Aegon had truly thought this through or had simply made the declaration on the heady feeling of a won battle and drink._

_“Because Jon, whilst those houses have claims, they won’t dare stand in your or your children’s way. Not with a dragon backing you.” There had been a triumphant glint in Aegon’s eyes then._

_Jon sighed once more. “Yes and what of when you are dead Aegon, what then. Will your children continue to support my children; will they be able to with Daenaerys Targaryen hot on their heels?”_

_Aegon had looked non plussed then and had stammered a reply. “But of course they will, for my children will be her children and she will have no reason not to support your claim and your lordship.”_

_“I will need to marry a lady of House Baratheon, whose claim cannot be disputed by anyone Your Grace. And as such, the only living female heir to Storm’s End from the main Baratheon line is a child, and is in the north likely to die from winter, it seems we have a problem.”_

A problem indeed it seemed. The Stormlords who had not sworn themselves to the boy king Tommem or were not in the north with Stannis Baratheon had come to Storm’s End one wintry day to pledge their allegiance to himself and to Aegon. Old Lord Sebastian Errol had come to press his claim to Storm’s End by virtue of his great, great grandmother, or failing that when Aegon had refused to acknowledge the man’s claim, he had wanted Jon to marry his daughter Elisa Errol, whom though Jon could admit was a pretty young thing at sixteen, perhaps was more suited to Aegon than to him. There were certain things that Jon had come to want from a partner in life that he had never truly thought of before, things that young girls could not offer, not at their age, but perhaps something that Lady Lemore could offer.  Of course the marriage offers had not stopped there, Lords Boiler, Buller, Caron, Dondarrion had all made offers of their daughters, nieces and cousins or sisters hands to Jon and each one had been turned down by Jon, it was becoming a slight headache for him, there were more pressing matters that needed to be discussed with the Stormlords rather than his marriage.

One such issue included the goings on in King’s Landing. The last they had heard of from the capital, Jon’s cousin’s son Red Ronnet had been sent to King’s Landing to answer for Jon’s own taking of the castle, according to words from their inside source the man had sworn to bring the boy king his head, a fool if any prone more to Jon’s cousin’s famous temper and rashness than anything, the man had not been allowed to leave King’s Landing at all. Kevan Lannister and Maester Pycelle were both dead, that was good, very, very good it would mean that the Lannister bitch was more suspicious of the Tyrells, perhaps this could mean that the Tyrells would fall into Aegon’s arms more willingly though more than likely that Fat Oaf would want Aegon to marry Margaery.  There had also been word of the two queens trials, both had been declared innocent of their crimes, though apparently according to the gossip that old Lord Estermont had provided Jon, the High Septon had demanded that Margaery’s marriage to Tommem be dissolved so as to keep the Tyrells at bay, whether or not there was truth in this rumour or not, Jon knew not, he merely knew that the Lannister’s hold on the Iron Throne was slowly slipping away, and soon the moment would be perfect to strike.

Four days later with the Stormlords finally gone from Storm’s End, Varys that slippery and sly devil of a spider came by to visit them, and that was when Jon finally saw the dragon emerge in Aegon.

_“Congratulations on a most impressive victory Your Grace.” The eunuch had said with his slithery tongue._

_Aegon had stared hard at the bald man his violet eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you old man, and how did you sneak past the guards?” Aegon had asked._

_Varys had tittered then and had looked at Jon. Jon had swallowed nervously and had said “Your Grace, this is the man who has made it possible for you to come to Westeros and reclaim your birthright. This man is Lord Varys.”_

_Aegon had turned toward Jon then, his eyes narrowing further. “Why would this man try and help me reclaim what is mine and my family’s when he bent the knee to the usurper and has continued to serve the man and his spawn since that day?”_

_“Because Your Grace, it was crucial that I continue to remain in King’s Landing, so that I could learn the boundaries and the weaknesses of the new regime. So that I could make it easier for you to come back to your rightful place as King of Westeros, so that I could create chaos for the Baratheons from the inside.” Varys had said smiling weakly._

_Just as you did for Aerys and Rhaegar then, Jon thought bitterly. Aegon merely looked at Varys for a long moment then and then spoke in a deep baritone voice, that reminded Jon so much of Rhaegar. “And you say you serve me and my family? And yet you made no effort to save my sister or my mother when the Lannisters sacked my home. You made no effort to bring my uncle and aunt to us safely, you left them wander the Free Cities as no more than beggars, the Blood of the Dragon left to fend for themselves. Tell me Lord Varys, why should I believe a word you say?”_

_You shouldn’t Jon thought. Varys merely tittered once more and said “I assure you Your Grace, all that has been done was done for your benefit. I could not hope to keep you alive if Robert Baratheon knew that your sister or mother lived. He would have kept the war going until all of you were dead, Dorne would have kept fighting as well, and there would never have been peace or stability within the realm. It would not have served to have you constantly hunted no there needed to be peace so that when the walls came tumbling down on the Baratheons, you could come and claim your throne. As to why you and your uncle and aunt were never kept together. It would not do to have Robert Baratheon aware that the true heir survived, he needed to be kept distracted, and hence why you never met your aunt or uncle. And besides I am sure you have heard the rumours of your uncle, he became as mad as his father toward the end.”_

_Aegon did not look convinced and yet he merely said in response. “Very well then. Now what news do you bring Lord Varys, if it is useful perhaps I will keep you in my service if not then, well Acteon has not had a meal in sometime.” As if on cue, the red dragon could be heard roaring from outside._

_Jon shivered even after all this time, the dragon intimidated and even scared him, he had not been used in battle as of yet, Aegon had not been part of the taking of Griffin’s Roost nor had he used him to take Storm’s End, instead Acteon had been used to get the last of the garrison to throw down their arms and surrender. The eunuch Jon noted seemed to have paled considerably at hearing Acteon’s roar, but soon regained his composure._

_“I do indeed come bearing tidings of great import for you Your Grace.” The eunuch said. “As you know King’s Landing is in turmoil. Both queens were cleared of the crimes levelled against them at their trial, but the High Septon wished for Margaery Tyrell to be gone from King’s Landing and so her marriage to Tommem is in the stages of being annulled, though Mace Tyrell continues to do all he can to stop that from happening. Cersei Lannister sits in her room and broods and plots, the boy king Tommem grows. Lord Tarly marches for Storm’s End with some 10,000 men to take it back from you Your Grace. The order would have been given today by Mace Tyrell, but Tarly does not mean to take the castle back. He is sick and tired of Mace Tyrell and means to bend the knee to you. As of the north, Stannis Baratheon and Jon Stark have reclaimed Winterfell, Bolton is dead, the Twins have fallen to them as well as has Riverrun, though Stannis Baratheon lies injured and dying in the Twins.”_

_That had been news to Jon, Stannis Baratheon dead that would make their route to King’s Landing much more feasible and victory seemed secured. Aegon though did not seem too concerned with that. “What of my Aunt Lord Varys, does she come to Westeros?”_

_Varys seemed to be hesitating to speak, and Jon felt something drop inside of him, how long was the girl going to dither in Meeren, did she never wish to come back to Westeros? Eventually the man spoke, and the words he spoke confirmed Jon’s worst fears. “She is still in Meeren Your Grace, she has lost one of her dragons as well, where it is I know not, but it has gone and she faces foes from all sides.”_

_“Does she never intend to come home?! Why does she dither so?!” Aegon exploded._

_Outside Acteon roared his master’s frustration. Varys tittered nervously. “One can never know a woman’s heart Your Grace. Though it seems she has taken to ruling the slaver cities with a fierce passion.”_

_“Then she can keep them and stay there.” Aegon said petulantly. “I will win back what was taken from us and I will have our revenge.”_

That conversation had been a week ago, and Varys had disappeared soon after it promising that he would continue to influence how things went in King’s Landing, and would of course bring them more news of the north and of Stannis Baratheon when he could.  They spent the time since Varys’ departure planning and plotting their next move. Some of the Golden Company generals such as Harry Strickland were deeply in favour of waiting in Storm’s End until there was further sign that King’s Landing would open its gates to them straight away, others wanted to march straight for King’s Landing and take it now. Aegon, Jon knew was impatient to march, the belief of youth that all would fall into place for him ran strong, though there was also a hesitancy in Aegon as well, a sense of unsurity that had not been there in Volon Therys or in Griffin’s Roost.

Prince Oberyn arrived two weeks after Varys had departed. Bringing with him only a man dressed in a plain white robe, who spoke little the whole time he was there, but whom Jon could have sworn he had met before and had known well, perhaps in a past life. Prince Oberyn had always been a arrogant and cocksure man and now was no different. He remarked how convenient it was that Jon and Aegon had survived but had not been seen for so long until now, and with a dragon to boot. He put Aegon through various tests that it seemed Aegon passed, which finally led to Oberyn agreeing to seal the alliance between them and Dorne. Dorne would give them 15,000 spears for the march on King’s Landing if Aegon agreed to marry Allyria Dayne. Tension ran high, Aegon agreed reluctantly and the chance of wedding Daenaerys and more importantly her three dragons disappeared. For Dorne would not bear another slight from a Targaryen even if he was of Dornish blood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Bodies

****

**Barristan**

Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of Daenaerys Targaryen’s Queensguard and Hand of the Queen, felt a knot form in his stomach as he overlooked the city of Meeren his post on Ghaston’s Pyramid. On the outside of the city he could see the encampments of thousands upon thousands of soldiers all of them brought here to fight for Yunkai, to remove his queen from her seat of power in Slaver’s Bay. The battle had been inevitable, the deaths of the hostages, the threat from the Sons of the Harpy, and the spreading of the Grey Plague, all of this was making Meeren volatile and perfect for an enemy to take.

On top of this was the fact that Daenaerys herself was not present in Meeren. Some thought she had been killed by Drogon that day in the fighting pits, others thought she had been killed in the great desert to the west of Meeren, and there was no clear consensus as to what had actually happened to Daenaerys for the people of Meeren, but most agreed that she was dead.  Barristan was not convinced that Daenaerys was dead; he could not allow himself to believe that his queen was dead. She had to have survived, she was blood of the dragon, and dragons did not kill one of their own.

Barristan watched as the city below came to life, the Unsullied led by Grey Worm were managing the walls of the city, preparing for any of the battering rams and other such siege equipment that the Yunkish men might bring with them.  Jorah Mormont, the slaver who the Queen had kept in her service, was marshalling the former slaves, the queen’s children, ready for the battle that would come; the Shavepate had his Brazen Beasts prepared as well. All in all as Barristan heard a war horn being sounded out in the waste outside the city, they had done all they could to prepare for this battle, whether or not Rhaegal and Viserion would be of any help Barristan was not sure, but he did not wish to hedge his bets on two untamed dragons.

He sighed, and walked down the steps of Ghaston’s Pyramid remembering all the previous battles he had fought in. The War of the Ninepenny Kings, where he had fought his way through the Golden Company and had been the one to end the threat of the Blackfyres once and for all, the Defiance of Duskendale where he had taken King Aerys out from right under Lord Denys’ nose, the Trident where he had fought long and hard to protect Rhaegar, but had failed, Pyke, so many battles he had fought in, so many different outcomes. Whether or not he would survive this current battle he knew not, all he knew was that he would not fail his queen and allow the Yunkish men to take her city, and enslave her children.

He reached end of the steps from Ghaston’s just where his silver steed Pride was saddled and waiting for him, just as the city below him began to stir. Barristan heard the shouts from Grey Worm and the Shavepate as they instructed their men to their positions, he heard Ser Jorah growling in the guttural tongue of the Queen’s children, and as he mounted his horse, Ser Barristan said a quick prayer to the Warrior for strength, one last battle then he would lay his sword down and he could rest, one more battle that was all he asked. Winter was in his joints now, but he still had one more fight in him, one last stand for his queen.

He drew his sword and spurred his horse down the remaining steps of the pyramid, reaching its bottom he turned to look at the assembled army of former slaves, unsullied and Brazen Beasts and in as loud a voice as he could manage he bellowed “People of Meeren, we have a foe to fight today. A foe that will undo all the work that our Queen has done for us, they shall take us and enslave us for their petty games and enjoyment. But we shall not let them do this, we shall fight and we shall win!” The answering roar gave Barristan confidence, it filled him with hope.

Outside the city walls the horns of the enemy sounded once more, and the first signs of battle began as the walls began to shake with the impact of the battering ram. Ser Barristan stayed on his horse with his sword raised high, and shouted “Archers Fire!” As the command was relayed by Grey Worm and the Shavepate, arrows came flying through the sky toward the Yunkish men and their comrades, the sound of men being felled echoed through the air. Arrows continued to fly forth, some reached their target others soared past, some of the later arrows were laced in flames so as to better exact a high price on the Yunkishmen.

The city walls continued to shake with the effects of the battering ram, though it was less frequent than before. Still the arrows kept on flying and the sounds of men in their death throes or begging for mercy echoed throughout the air, and made Barristan feel grim, a warrior he was but that did not mean he found the death and destruction that came with war any easier.  Arrows kept flying but the city gates could no longer stand the battering of the ram, and Barristan watched as they caved in, and the Yunkishmen and their allies came streaming into the city.

Barristan drew his sword and screamed a charge as loud as he could. Spurring his horse onward, he felt the stairs jar his shoulders but he simply grimaced in pain and kept going. His sword connected with the neck of a sellsword from the Windblown first,  the man- or boy- head rolled from his body, blood spurted onto the ground and covered Barristan and his horse. Still he rode on, swinging and hacking at those on the ground who came to close toward him. Swinging, hacking, cutting and dodging, the flow of the battle continued like this for many a long moment, though it seemed like days were passing as Barristan kept swinging his sword, felling opponents left, right and centre. His sword was stained red with the blood of the foes he had killed, the ground was littered with bodies, and yet there did not seem to be an end to the men filing through the city gates.

The Yunkishmen and their allies seemed to be too many, no matter how many men were felled in however many charges had happened, more seemed to appear, ready to take the place of their fallen comrades. They had the men, but it seemed to Barristan that their ranks were breaking, as those who fought for Meeren either were slain or laid down their weapons and willingly walked to their deaths. More and more bodies littered the ground, and an increasing number of them were either Unsullied or former slaves that called Daenaerys their mother.

Still Barristan kept going, trying to rally as many men as possible, he led charge after charge at the approaching enemy. Swinging his sword, hacking at the enemy’s heads, necks, chest, and shoulders anywhere that could draw blood and kill them, which were where Barristan swung his sword. He paused for a moment to catch his breath back, his sword was so covered in blood that the glint of steel was unrecognizable, the ground was littered with bodies, the earth drinking in the blood greedily, the sun was out and the temperatures was boiling, and yet still the Yunkishmen came. Barristan hacked, slashed, and cut his way through them trying to find a general or leader for him to kill that could perhaps turn the tide of the battle and perhaps end the strength and courage of the sellswords fighting for the Yunkishmen. Though there did not seem to be any sort of soldier there for him to kill.

His strength was beginning to lag, the power and timing of his swings and blows was beginning to lessen, he gained more injuries and blows than he dealt. Blood began to pour out of his armour in copious amounts; the world was beginning to spin. And still Barristan kept on swinging his sword, hoping against hope that he could at least bring some of the bastards with him before he died.  A blow to his chest knocked him clean of his horse, and as he lay there in the dirt, he struggled to find the strength to get back up onto his feet and continue the fight. He could hear the footsteps of his killer coming, and braced himself for the killing blow, deciding that he would not die with his buried in the ground like a coward, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and watched as a giant brute of a man came walking toward him, an axe raised in his hands, but before the man could end Barristan, they both heard the sound of a roar, a fierce and angry roar, and there blocking out the sun with a pair of cream coloured wings was Viserion, the mighty she dragon, a jet of fire engulfed the Yunkishmen before Ser Barristan closed his eyes and saw no more.

 

 

 


	17. Ghosts Old and New

**Ashara**

Dorne had allied with Aegon Targaryen, an alliance sealed the old fashioned way, with a betrothal. Ashara’s sister Allyria was betrothed to the boy claiming to be Elia’s son, and once the war was won would marry him. Ashara still harboured her doubts over whether or not this Aegon was actually Elia’s Aegon, but she spoke not a word of her doubts to Doran or Oberyn, both of whom seemed quite content to believe whatever words the boy and his hand Jon Connington had spoken to Oberyn at Storm’s End. The fact that the man who was the boy’s hand was in fact Jon Connington did lend some sort of credence to his claim of legitimacy, still Ashara did have some nagging doubts about whether or not the boy was who he said he was.

She was also deeply surprised that Doran had not tried to push Arianne on the boy, in an attempt to create the same match for Aegon as had happened for Elia and Rhaegar, but perhaps the memories of the events that had brought the rebellion to fruition had dissuaded him from pursuing such a move.  Oberyn had told her late one day after another one of their meetings had ended, that Doran had considered the notion, but had apparently remembered Arianne’s anger when she had first thought that she was being overlooked for her birthright, and with Quentyn having died in Meeren at the hands of one of Daenaerys Targaryen’s dragons, it seemed Doran wished for his daughter to inherit after him. And so Allyria was the price for Dorne’s allegiance, something that deeply nagged on Ashara- she hated the fact that her sister seemed to be being sold off like cattle at a market- but Allyria herself did not seem to mind.  She had been betrothed to Lord Beric Dondarrion since she was ten years old, waiting for her flowering before she married the marcher lord, when the war had broken out and Beric Dondarrion had turned into some sort of zombie like creature, bent on meting out a harsh brand of justice, or so Edric had told them.  Allem’s son had returned to Starfall one day, three years after he had shipped out to Stonehaven and had returned a shaken and scarred young man.

It seemed that Arthur shared her concerns; she still remembered the conversation she had had with her brother a few days ago:

_“This plan of Doran’s is very, very risky. It smells more of Oberyn than of Doran.” Arthur had said._

_Ashara had laughed then. “Oh Arthur, Oberyn’s plans have always been designed by Doran, the old feud with the Yronwoods was instigated by Doran so as to make sure they didn’t do anything to play on old Aerys paranoia. No Doran has been putting this plan into action for years now, ever since Elia and Rhaenys’ deaths.”_

_Arthur grimaced, as he so often did whenever Elia and Rhaenys were mentioned. “Still, I like it not that it seems that Allyria is being used as a bargaining chip for our alliance with Aegon”_

_“You do not believe that this boy is whom he claims to be?”Ashara had asked surprised._

_“No, I remember the stories of what had happened to the baby Aegon during the sack. The fact that Varys was involved makes it even harder for me to believe that this boy is who he says he is. No doubt some sort of trickery is involved here. Something to play on Jon Connington’s love of Rhaegar, and Dorna and Oberyn’s desperation to have justice for Elia and the children.” Arthur had said._

_“Is that why you haven’t left us for Storm’s End then Arthur your own doubts and insecurities? Will you leave us the minute Daenaerys Targaryen lands with her three dragons and Unsullied?” Ashara had asked, failing to keep the bitterness out of her voice._

_Arthur had sighed then and his voice seemed to be strained when he replied. “No Ashara, that is not why have not left. I made a promise to you, I promised to protect you and Jeyne from whomever would do you harm, and I intend to stick to that promise. I forsook my vows to the Iron Throne the minute Rhaegar ordered me to stay at that damned tower.”_

_Ashara stared at her brother and she hated the way her voice shook when she asked. “Do you truly mean that Arthur? Do you truly mean to stay even if Aegon takes King’s Landing and Doran informs him that you still live? Even if Daenaerys lands? I remember you made a promise to Elia as well when we were young, that you would stand beside her always, you left her though.”_

_She must be shaking for soon she is wrapped in Arthur’s embrace and hears him whisper into her hair. “I was a fool for doing that, I am punished every day for breaking my promise to Elia, I am punished with the knowledge that I was not there to protect her when Aerys went mad, that I could not go and take her away back home when Rhaegar lost his wits. Please don’t push me away Ashara please, I don’t think I could survive if you did.”_

_“I never could push you away Art, your my brother, I’ll always love you.” She’d replied then taking her head from his chest and brushing away the tears that were falling from her brother’s eyes._

_“What will happen to the betrothal between Trystane and Myrcella Baratheon though? Now that we have declared for Aegon?” She had asked then._

_Arthur still held her in his arms. “I believe that that will go ahead, even if the girl is the product of relations between her uncle and mother, there are those who would see her on the throne. Should Aegon fail, and then Doran will still have someone with a claim to the throne to seat on it.”_

_“So the girl is merely another pawn then?” Ashara asked her voice laced with disgust._

_Arthur looked down at her then and there was a sad smile on his face when he replied. “We all are Ashara, we all are.”_

* * *

Since that conversation many things had happened. They had learnt that all of the Stormlords that were not with Stannis had declared for Aegon and for Jon Connington the man who had been named Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. They learnt of the red dragon that Aegon had, and how it grew bigger every day, and how if Doran was to be believed it soon would be big enough for Aegon to ride into battle and take King’s Landing. They learnt of how Randyll Tarly and the 20,000 men he had taken with him from King’s Landing had bent the knee to Aegon, of how Mace Tyrell had fumed and fumed at his bannerman’s betrayal and still refused to take his daughter and leave the city. They learnt of the increasing conflict between the Faith and the Tyrells, of the stirrings going on in Oldtown, that traditional seat of power for logic, of the Ironborn being beaten back from the Oldtown by Hightower men and sellswords from Lys and the Stepstones. There was little to no news from the north, neither of Jon’s movements or actions since he had taken Riverrun, nor of whether Stannis Baratheon lived or not.

Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden had left a week past to return to his home, promising that once the war was over he would speak with Sansa and with Jon about arranging a betrothal between the two of them. Ashara saw how Sansa seemed so smitten with the boy, and she remembered how smitten she had been with Ned in her youth, though she doubted whether or not the affection that Willas Tyrell seemed to exhibit toward the young Stark girl was real or if it was just an act, put on for their benefit, when really all he and the Tyrells wanted was Sansa’s claim to Winterfell, for it did seem as if the Tyrells would turn their cloak again and join Aegon. It seemed that whilst Arthur shared her views, Oberyn did not laughing when she brought up her concerns to him and stating that “Willas may be the grandson of the Queen of Thorns and he may be cunning and smart, but he is not the scheming type, not like his father or grandmother, if he says he’s interested in the Stark girl, the he is interested in her.”

A moon after Willas Tyrell departed for Highgarden Jeyne breathed her last. Her daughter had been ill for so long now that it seemed as if death was inevitable, that her little girl had passed should have come as no surprise to Ashara, but it was. Jeyne in her short life had come so very close to leaving with the Stranger and yet had somehow found the strength to keep living and fighting her frail health, that Ashara- foolishly she supposed now- had thought that her little girl could not die, would not die. Of course that just made it so much harder for her when her little girl did die. As she laid her daughter to rest in the crypts in Starfall she felt the tears flow freely down her cheeks, as Septon Morrien spoke of her daughter and prayed that she find peace and happiness with the Seven, Ashara cried and cried, her heart felt as if was breaking into tiny pieces, Arthur stood strong and solid beside her holding her hand throughout the whole ceremony. When it ended, and condolences had been offered he led her back up into the main castle and her room.

 The next day she, Arthur and Sansa boarded the Pride of Dawn and set sail for the Stony Shore, her heart was heavy, her eyes red, but she wished to be with Jon, the son of her heart, and never let him go. 


	18. A Dragon Rises/ Death Despises

**Daenaerys**

Her city was a smoking ruin; of that much all could agree. She had arrived on dragon back with a Khalasar some 30,000 strong to defend her people, her children from the Yunkish Slavers, only to find them gone, scattered with the winds, the gates of her city opened and kraken banners flying from the ships in the port. A great battle had been fought in Meeren for control of the city, between her unsullied and her children against the slavers and sellswords of Yunkai. Her city had won, that much was clear, mainly due to Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah’s brilliant planning, the city walls had held though the gates had been broken.

According to Ser Jorah, the day would have been lost had it not been for Rhaegal and Viserion, and these people calling themselves Ironborn who came from across the sea, from Westeros, her home. The Ironborn were led by a man named Victarion Greyjoy who claimed to have come on behalf of his brother Euron to help her on her quest to Westeros, though there was some ulterior motive that he had, that she had not yet figured out. Whilst she had been most grateful for his and his men’s help against the Yunkishmen she was wary of him and his, keeping in mind the words that Ser Jorah had spoken to her, about Ironborn and their treacherous ways.

Much had been needed to be set to rights before Dany could truly understand all that had gone on in her absence. The gates had been repaired, the walls fixed where the rams and arrows had done their damage, and the bodies of the dead were cremated and given to their loved ones for burial. Amongst the dead lay her old knight, Ser Barristan. The man had fought valiantly for her according to Ser Jorah, had risked his neck for her once she had been thought lost, had imprisoned her husband, the betrayer, had led the defence of the city, had cut down all those who had come in front of him during the battle, only to be burnt by Viserion, in her child’s mad fit of rage and battle lust. Dany had not wept when she had seen her old knight’s charred carcass, but had merely stared and stared at it for what seemed like hours, unable to fully believe or comprehend that the man was dead.

She had also learnt of the death of Quentyn Martell, the Prince who had come from Dorne to try and win her hand. She had rebuked him, had told him he would be better off returning back to Dorne, and the fool a boy had tried to tame one of her dragons, one her children, to prove he was worthy of her! Did the fool not understand that only one who was of true blood of the dragon could ride and tame a dragon? She had asked her bear that night beneath the sheets. He knew not, her bear, all he knew was that Prince Quentyn had felt spurned and had decided to take matters into his own hands, to his detriment. His companions had disappeared after their friend’s death, had disappeared with his ashes, and what tale they would tell the boy’s father Dany knew not, nor did she truly care, she was the Martells only hope of getting justice for Elia and her children, against the usurpers dogs, they would have to support her.

Now though was not the time for contemplative thought. Now she found herself sat on her throne waiting in Ghaston’s Pyramid for her traitor of a husband to be brought forth for judgement and execution. The doors opened and the herald announced her husband’s name. Dany gave the man a cold look before she spoke. “I married you under the assumption that doing so would bring peace to Meeren. And yet it seems that it was you who was working, conspiring, plotting with the Yunkishmen to remove me from power and take it for your own. For these crimes, you shall not die by the sword but shall die by dragon’s fire.” There was a pause in which Hizhadar whimpered pathetically but Dany was in no mood for listening to his pleas instead she merely whistled, and she watched as two of the unsullied grabbed the man who had once been her husband by the arms and dragged him out to the steps where Drogon was waiting. She waited for a moment, and then closed her eyes when she heard a roar and then a loud scream, signalling the death of her husband.

Dany then turned to look at Victarion Greyjoy who had a look that seemed to be a cross between fear and lust on his face. Speaking as clearly as she could she said “Lord Greyjoy, you have come to Meeren, you assisted in the defence of my city, and for that I and my people thank you. Now I promised you that I would speak to you of your purpose in coming to Meeren, now is that time. So speak, and speak true, for if you lie I shall feed you to one of my dragons.”

Once more a look of lust crossed the man’s face, and when he spoke Dany could hear subtle hints of desire in his tone, that somehow made her think of Daario. “Your Grace, I have come as an envoy of the Iron Islands, to provide you ships and men to help you reclaim your birthright.”

There was some murmuring in the room at that, and Dany saw Ser Jorah look at her pleadingly out the corner of her eye. She merely raised her hand and waited for the room to go silent, once it had she replied. “And what would you want in return for this?”

The man scoffed and said “Myself nothing Your Grace.”

Dany merely looked at the man before saying. “I don’t believe you Greyjoy, everyone, every man wants something. Now what is it that you want?” Outside she heard Drogon growl and from their respective pyramids she could feel Viserion and Rhaegal growl with frustration.

Greyjoy had the audacity to laugh then. “You truly are your father’s daughter. Very well then, I want your hand in marriage Your Grace, in turn for providing the Iron Fleet to getting you to Westeros.”

Dany was silent for a long moment, as she thought of what the man had said as well as what Quaithe had once said to her long ago, one to bed, one to ride and one to love. Ser Jorah came up to her and whispered frantically in her ear “Do not tie yourself to this man Your Grace, doing so will alienate any potential allies you might make in Westeros.”

Dany turned to look at her bear and simply said. “I am the rightful Queen of Westeros; they shall bend the knee or taste dragonfire. I do not need their help, I need to get to Westeros, and Lord Greyjoy provides a suitable option for this.” She turned to face Greyjoy who had a smug look on his face, and she said “Very well Greyjoy we shall be wed. Once the iron throne is mine, so none can dispute the fact.”

Greyjoy nodded his acceptance and then walked back to where he had been stood before. Next the herald announced the arrival of the Green Grace of Meeren Galazza Galare. The woman was still dressed in her finery, though the smug smile was replaced by one of fear, perhaps the woman had learnt of what had befallen her friend, just before. She wore no chains, but neither did she make an attempt to escape not with Drogon hovering outside the pyramid, waiting for his fill of flesh and blood. She stopped at the foot of the throne, Dany looked at her with a contemptuous look and her tone was dripping with ice and fire when she spoke. “Green Grace of Meeren. Do you know why you have been brought here?”

The woman remained silent, and so Dany went on. “You have been brought here so that all may know your crimes. As the Green Grace you advised me to bring peace to the realm by marrying Hizdhar, but what your true motive was, was to cause more chaos in my city. Hizdhar was a puppet for the sons of the harpy, and as such came to our wedding bed keen to poison or remove me in any way possible. You worked with the perfumed seneschal to bring about my downfall, why some might ask, why risk everything? Because you are the Harpy are you not Galazza?”

Again the woman was silent and so Dany went on. “The deaths of thousands of innocents are on your hands Galazza; many thousands of people have died during this battle, and for what purpose? So that you could feed your hunger and greed. For that you shall be punished as to how my children were punished. Ser Jorah.”

Ser Jorah drew his sword from his scabbard and with a grimace on his face moved toward the Green Grace. Dany watched with some satisfaction as her bear first slit the woman’s throat, and then slit her arms and wrists and neck, and then he plunged his sword into her chest and stomach and legs. Once he was done he moved back and Dany nodded for two of the Unsullied to move forward to grab the woman’s body. Dany watched as they threw the body out of the pyramid, she would make for a good meal for one of her children she knew.

With that done Dany was silent for a moment and then breathed a sweet sigh of relief, her time in Meeren was done. Westeros awaited her, it was time to claim what was hers by right, what had been stolen from her and her family all those years ago. She was coming home, with fire and blood.


	19. Rise Of The Young Lion

**Martyn Lannister**

When he’d been captured by the Young Wolf’s forces at Oxcross, Martyn had never thought that he’d live to see the next day let alone the next year. He still remembered the carnage, the brutality of the battle, Uncle Stafford had been lax even Martyn knew that, yet his position as a lowly squire had meant that he had not been able to question his uncle’s motives. There were times when he deeply regretted that, his silence had cost him the life of his twin, his soul mate, Willem had been killed alongside Uncle Stafford by some large brute of a Northman. He can still see his brother’s green eyes staring vacantly into space, such a sight would never leave him, not for as long as he lived.

His imprisonment had been relatively short considering how resounding a victory the Young Wolf had won. He had spent perhaps two weeks no more as a prisoner in Riverrun when he was exchanged for some Northman called Robett Glover, he knew not why he had been freed, only that he was going home. It was only when he was back at the Rock that he learnt that he had come an inch closer to death, Lady Catelyn Stark, had freed cousin Jaime and the Young Wolf’s goodfather had come so very close to killing Martyn. He had felt surprisingly numb when he had heard that from his cousin Daven, with Willem dead he was not sure whether or not he would have welcomed death.

Then the Young Wolf and his mother had been killed, and all had celebrated the ending of the war in the Rock, Uncle Damion the castellan of the Rock had thrown a large feast and had invited all those in the West to attend, Martyn had gotten good and drunk at that feast, not because Joffrey’s reign was secure- as far as he was concerned Joffrey could go to hell- but because it meant that he would not have to go back into the fighting, he would not have to see more bloodshed, no more screaming and dying. Then Joffrey had died, and he had been brought to Riverrun by cousin Daven, and had been knighted that day, Uncle Tywin had died, and all had gone to chaos.

More than once Martyn heard his cousin and others in the army muttering about how inefficient cousin Cersei was, how uncle Tywin, even cousin Tyrion would have done a much better job at making sure all was in order in the Riverlands, and that this siege was pointless. Martyn spent as much time as he possibly could with his cousin learning about warfare and tactics from a firsthand perspective, he spent as much time as he could away from the Freys, those treacherous weasels that Uncle Tywin had made their allies to end the Young Wolf, cousin Daven did not trust them, and so Martyn did not.

Father had taken Martyn back home to the Rock when he had come back from seeing Lancel established in Darry, Ser Kevan had seemed very angry and annoyed about something, but whatever it was he would not speak of it to Martyn, he had briefly thought that it might have been the fact that Daven had been named Warden of the West and not him. Though after overhearing a conversation between father and mother, Martyn had learnt that his father was deeply annoyed and angry with Cersei over her poor managing of the situation in King’s Landing and that she was more than likely going to bring the family name into disrepute with the Faith and with the rest of the Lords in Westeros, driving them into the arms of Stannis Baratheon.

Father had left for King’s Landing three days later, but not before giving a letter with the royal sigil on it, and saying to Martyn “If something should happen to me, I want you to wait for the outcome of Cersei’s trial before you open it. And when you do decide to open it, I want you to have Damion, Daven and Genna present. Is that understood?”

Martyn had nodded but had been very, very curious as to what was written within the letter that had gotten his father sounding so urgent and insistent. Of course a moon after father had left for King’s Landing a raven had come from the capital, written in the hand of Mace Tyrell informing them of father’s death. Martyn had been struck dumb by the news, he had never truly expected father to die, how he had died Martyn still did not know, all he knew was that when he had broken the news to his mother she had wept and wept, and now was close to death herself.

Father’s body had come back to the Rock and had been interred in the Hall of Heroes along with uncle Tywin and Uncle Tygett, Daven had come back with father’s body and had been muttering about how much of a fool Cersei was for allowing the faith to rearm, Martyn still remembered the conversation he’d had with his cousin the day after his father’s funeral.

_“We must tread carefully now Martyn do you understand me? Since Jaime has decided to go wander off somewhere, our army has drifted away. Cersei is no longer in power in King’s Landing, in fact I think not even the Tyrells are in control anymore. We cannot make any accusations as to whom murdered your father, we must wait and bide our time.” Daven had said._

_Martyn had merely nodded, before saying. “Before he left, father gave me a letter with the royal sigil on it, and said that should anything happen to him, I should ask for you, uncle Damion and Aunt Genna to come to the Rock before I opened it. Do you know what is in the letter coz?”_

_Daven had looked at Martyn very strangely before replying. “Do you have the letter on you now?”_

_Martyn had nodded and had handed his cousin the letter, Daven did not open the letter but merely stared at it before whispering almost to himself. “Of course, clever old bastard.” Before he turned to look at Martyn, a strange glint in his eyes, “Ask Damion to send a raven to Riverrun Aunt Genna will be needed here most urgently before King’s Landing gets whiff of this.”_

_Martyn had nodded, and later that night a raven had flown to Riverrun._

Now a two moons later, Aunt Genna had arrived from Riverrun, thankfully not with her weasel faced Frey husband but with Martyn’s cousins Lyonel, Tywin and Willem. In that time, the snows had thickened along the Westerlands, and the rest of Westeros, the lands had gotten much colder, Stannis Baratheon had claimed the support of the north and had retaken Riverrun, and someone by the name of Aegon Targaryen had taken the Stormlands had gained Dorne.  King’s Landing’s response seemed muted at best, cousin Jaime was still missing, and none of the search parties in the Riverlands had been able to find him.

That was all a problem for another day though, now Martyn found himself in the Lord’s Solar of Casterly Rock, but not sitting in the Lord’s chair, with Maester Creylen, Cousin Daven, Uncle Damion and Aunt Genna sitting next to him in chairs around the solar. All were looking at him expectantly, and so he coughed slightly to clear his throat before saying. “I thank you all for coming here now. Before he left for King’s Landing, my father gave me a letter bearing the Royal Sigil, and instructed that should something happen to him, I was to ask for you four to come and bear witness as I opened the letter. That time has come, my father lies interred in the Hall of Heroes, my mother lies in her sick bed, my brother Willem died fighting for Joffrey and Lancel has more than likely died doing some foolishness.”

His speech done, Martyn opened the letter and gave it to Maester Creylen to read. He heard Creylen give a deep intake of breath before the man spoke, and his words shocked Martyn to the core. “This letter contains the official word and decree of his Grace King Tommem Baratheon, first of his name. In this letter King Tommem has decided to solve the issue of succession for the Lordship of Casterly Rock. With Ser Jaime sworn to the Kingsguard, his uncle Tyrion exiled and serving an usurper, and his mother currently incarcerated. The succession of Lord Tywin Lannister, passes to his eldest brother Ser Kevan Lannister, with Ser Kevan dead and his sons Lancel and Willem either serving the faith or dead, the Lordship has passed to Martyn Lannister. King Tommem formally acknowledges Martyn Lannister as the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.”

There was a shocked silence before Daven got down on one knee and said. “In recognition of his grace’s wishes, I Ser Daven Lannister do recognise and pledge fealty to you Lord Martyn of Casterly Rock from this day till my last.” Martyn was still in a state of shock as the other three people in the room got down on bended knee and made the same pledge as Daven had.

Finally finding his voice to accept these pledges, he spoke in a quiet voice. “What must be done now?”

It was his aunt Genna who spoke. “The rest of the household must know about this, and then ravens must be sent out to the rest of the Western houses so they may come and pledge you fealty. And then you must decide which king you will fight for. Stannis, Tommem or this boy Aegon.”

Martyn nodded, and for once in his life wished he had not been born a Lannister, there was so much that needed to be done. Not to mention the wrath that this would incur from the Tyrells and Cersei.


	20. Golden Lioness

**Cersei**

The Red Keep had become a prison for her, she who had once shone brighter than the sun, she who had ruled Westeros since her son, her golden child had come to the throne. Now she was nothing more than a relic of an age past, forgotten and discarded just like her uncle had been. Except her uncle was dead and she was still alive, Ser Robert Strong had proven just as undefeatable as Qyburn had said he would be, the brute had killed his opponent, some foolish green boy whom the Warrior Sons had put forward to defend the High Sparrow and his accusations against her. The man and the faith had been made to look the fool that day, and oh how she had gloated over it, and how she had taken joy over it. So much so in fact that she had not even cared that Margaery that little rose had been cleared as well, her innocence proven, her uncle dead, she had made moves to take back what power had been taken from her, starting with the High Septon.

The fool who had sought to cast her from power was dead, Qyburn had seen to that, she knew not the specific details only that Ser Robert Strong had been busy the day she had been with Tommem, one of the few times she was allowed to visit her son. Next she had worked to remove the Tyrells influence from court, and to remove them from court altogether, this was taking longer than she had expected. For all that the man appeared to be an oath and a fool, his darling daughter and his connections to the Hightowers of Oldtown had meant that the Faith looked more favourably upon him and his then they did of Cersei and Tommem. But she had had Qyburn install one of his puppets into the Most Devout, and the man had been elected as the new High Septon. The man had slowly but surely removed the people of the faith who seemed to be more in relation to the Hightowers than their actually gods, and had replaced them with Lannister men, and with that had come the demand for Margaery and Tommem’s marriage to be set aside.

It was then that she truly realised how desperate the fat oaf was for his daughter to be queen, the man begged and pleaded with the High Septon that Margaery had been proven innocent and that the marriage would be consummated, when the man seemed to be unmoving he had turned to her, and she had merely smiled demurely to him and had merely said it was out of her hands.  With the Ironborn invading and capturing so many castles within the Reach the fat oaf had not had too much time to protest the demands being placed upon him by the new High Septon, but then news had come from the south, some boy calling himself Aegon Targaryen had taken Storm’s End and with it the allegiance of the Stormlords.

That had been a deep shock to Cersei, for whilst there was no doubt in her mind that this boy was merely a pretender- after all her father had laid Aegon Targaryen and his brat of a sister and weakling mother’s bodies at Robert’s feet after the sack- the fact that he had taken the Baratheon Fortress and had killed Lord Rowan in the process was mightily impressive, already she could feel her grasp on the throne beginning to slip. And so she ordered Tyrell to send Lord Tarly to deal with the pretender once and for all, Tyrell did that though his sworn bannerman bent the knee to the boy, that had caused Cersei all sorts of headaches and anger, traitors each everyone of these little roses, she was going to kill them all even if it took her own life to do so.

There was another headache for her to worry about as well, she had removed Tyrell as regent and reinstalled herself as such, she had sent Tyrell back to Highgarden but had kept his little rose in the Red Keep as leverage for his good behaviour, she cared not that this could antagonize him against her, she was Queen Regent and would do as she pleased. The other problem was Stannis Baratheon, the most stubborn and only surviving of the Baratheon brothers had gained the fealty of the northmen, having legitimised Brandon Stark’s bastard and wedded him to Robb Stark’s whore of a wife, the northmen had kicked out the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte and had taken Winterfell from the Boltons though Ramsay Bolton still lived and had apparently taken Jon Stark’s wife and son hostage. That was enough to make her happy, though her happiness was dented somewhat by the fact that Stark had then led Stannis’s forces and taken Riverrun and the Twins, it seemed King’s Landing may be under attack sooner than she had thought.

There was also the fact that Qyburn had reported to her of the Dornish snakes revealing their true loyalties at last, Doran Martell for so long the cautious and boring man had finally entered the Game of Thrones, and had declared for the boy calling himself Aegon Targaryen. Though according to Qyburn, the man was still playing it safe, he had committed 10,000 spears to the boy’s forces for his march on King’s Landing, but he had not betrothed his own daughter to the boy, no Jon Stark’s aunt Allyria Dayne was to become Queen should the boy win the throne. It seemed Prince Doran was not assured of his supposed nephew’s victory, enough so that he still kept his son’s betrothal to her precious Myrcella, not for long though. Cersei had men in Dorne loyal to her and her alone, and soon Prince Doran would learn the price of betraying a Lannister, her father had caused the Rains of Castamere, and Cersei quite fancied the rains over Dorne, a new house would rise from that mess and she would have her daughter back, at any cost.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Calling for whomever it was to come in Cersei found herself looking at her Master of Whispers, a man who had served her loyally when all else had deserted or betrayed her. Qyburn seemed nervous as he spoke. “Your Grace, there has been a letter from the Rock for you.”

Cersei felt something akin to fear stir within her, she had not had word from Damion since he had written her to inform her of Uncle Kevan’s body arriving at the Rock, had the Ironborn struck at the Rock? “Well what does it say then?” she asked trying to keep her voice neutral.

Qyburn swallowed nervously and opened the letter and began to read, Ser Robert Strong stood like a thick shadow behind him. “Dear Cousin Cersei, I write to inform you formally of my ascension as Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the  West by order of his grace King Tommem Baratheon first of his name, the lawful king of the Andals and the First men etc. As your liege lord, I request that you come back to Casterly Rock and allow for Ser Daven Lannister to assume your position as his grace’s regent. Yours Martyn Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.”

Qyburn finished reading the letter and then put it down, and looked at her nervously. Cersei was silent for a moment before she felt cold rage begin to boil within her. “He dares, that brat, that worthless scum, thinks to call himself Lord of the Rock when it is I who is the rightful Lady of the Rock as my lord father’s heir and successor. To what does he presume to do so?”

Qyburn swallowed loudly and spoke in soothing tones. “He mentions a royal decree handed to him by his father signed and sealed with his grace’s own hand. He states that Lord Tyrell and Lord Tarly were witnesses to the sealing and writing of this decree as was Pycelle.”

Cersei snorted, though she could feel her anger beginning to boil over as she glanced at the letter still on the table before her. “How convenient for Martyn then, that he would claim the witnesses be one who is now a traitor and one who is away in Highgarden and one who is dead. Tommem is a boy who will do whatever he is told to do. This decree has no validity, I will have Tommem issue a decree to overrule this and then have Martyn taught a sharp lesson.”

Qyburn coughed and when she looked at him questioningly he stuttered out “That may be a problem Your Grace.”

“How so?” Cersei asked, was Qyburn about to fail her as well?”

“His Grace has another document with him, of the same proclamation, it was kept within Lord Kevan’s chambers, and after his lordship’s death I was instructed to take it and keep it. I have it here.” Qyburn said sheepishly.

Cersei glared at the man and took the proffered piece of paper, and read it quickly. She felt her world begin to crash around her as she read it, it confirmed everything that Martyn, her traitor of a cousin had said in his letter, and there was even one more sigil on the letter, it was something she had not seen before, a winged creature with three heads and was that a web she looked at? “Whose sigil is this Qyburn, Varys’?” she asked trying to keep her voice calm though she could feel the nerves slowly creeping in.

She saw Qyburn chuckle and felt anger begin to pool inside of her this was no laughing matter. “No Your Grace, it is not Varys’ sigil, though I confess I can understand why you might find it so.”

“Then whose sigil is it?” Cersei asked.

“Why my lady it is mine.” Qyburn said and then he gave a titter that sounded so very familiar to Varys’ she nearly choked on her wine.

“Yours? But you are a maester, you have no allegiance to anyone but those you are sworn to serve, and you serve me. Why would you take part in this treachery, this foolishness?” She asked angrily.

“Because the rightful king is at your gates my lady, he is here now and soon all show be as it was meant to be. Varys is not the only one who wished the dragons back. Ser Robert hold her down, we have unfinished business me and the Lannisters.” Qyburn said.

Cersei was about scream when Ser Robert Strong pushed her down and held her as Qyburn shoved some sort of concoction down her throat, and the world began to go black around her. 


	21. Daughter of Winter/ Wife of Ice

**Alys**

Sometimes at night she can still hear the dogs barking, her children crying out for, and the manic laughter of the man who had captured them. Ramsay Bolton, the man had escaped justice at the Battle of Winterfell, and had hidden away somewhere deep within the villages around the seat of the Starks, using fear and bribery to get men within the villages and even inside the castle to do dirty and treacherous deeds for him. After a time, and with Jon having ridden south with Stannis Baratheon, taking with him what strength was left of the northern houses, Ramsay Bolton had made his move. He had snuck into the castle grounds and had killed the guards on duty, replacing them with men whom he had bought. Alys had walked right into his trap and her children had paid the price for it.

Bolton and his men- there had been four of them- had taken Alys and her children to some broken down house somewhere deep within the Wolfswood, where she learnt he had spent the past few weeks and months since his father’s death plotting and hiding. Alys had tried to use her powers of persuasion to get Bolton to release Shiera and Rickard, they were of no use to him, if he wanted to draw a reaction from Jon, he’d have to get her down and beat first, she knew of course that that was not true, her husband would kill Ramsay Bolton for doing harm to any of them, but the man did not need to know that.  Bolton had merely laughed at her words though, in all his mad glory had proclaimed that he would not leave either her or her children alive, not so long as his Arya remained in Winterfell’s walls, and that he would have what was his right.

And so the torture had begun, each day Bolton would come to her and get one of his men to hold a dagger to either Shiera or Rickard’s throats, and the other two men would hold her arms, and Bolton with his sadistic smile would question her as to where Jeyne Poole was being kept in Winterfell, and where the prize was. What prize he meant Alys knew not, there was no prize in Winterfell that she could think Bolton would want, yet whenever she said she knew not what he spoke of, a hair would vanish from her children’s heads, or a new scar would appear on their bodies. This carried on for a few weeks, before Bolton grew tired of waiting and simply threatened to kill either Shiera or Rickard unless Alys told him the location of the prize. Still not knowing what prize he meant she gave him false directions toward a vase, that she remembered Robb telling her had been in the family for generations, Bolton was not impressed, he had come back livid and had beaten her bloody before making her watch as he gave Shiera, her innocent little girl to his dogs. The sight and sound of her little girl crying and screaming haunted Alys to this day.

It was a month before someone came and freed her and Rickard. A month in which her ghosts grew, the nightmares continued and her baby boy was mutilated beyond belief by the sadistic urges of Ramsay Bolton. Davos Seaworth and some thirty men all bearing the sigils of the Elk of House Hornwood had somehow managed to find her and her son, Ramsay and his four men had been brutally killed, and their heads mounted on spikes once they returned to Winterfell. Alys had thanked Davos Seaworth tearfully for his help, though the nightmares of her daughter’s death still haunted her even during waking hours. “How did you find us Ser?”She had asked, thinking Seaworth had been dead killed during the battle long ago, or ridden south with his king.

The man had looked grim when he replied. “One of the guards saw Bolton leaving the castle sometime ago, he came to me. I am sorry I could not save your daughter my lady.”

And that had been that, they returned to Winterfell, and Alys spent her time between ensuring the castle was safe and secure, and making sure Rickard was never out of her sight for longer than necessary. Three moons after her rescue, her goodmother and goodsister arrived in Winterfell. She had met Sansa, had loved Sansa as the sister she had never had before their worlds were turned upside down and was relieved to see her alive and well, remembering how during the war, Robb and then Jon had feared for her safety amongst the nest of vipers that was King’s Landing. Her goodmother or rather Jon’s mother was another matter. She had grown up hearing of the famed beauty that was Ashara Dayne, the woman who had so much charm and promise, she managed to seduce almost all the men who took her fancy, rumours held or so her brother Harrion had told her once, that one man she had failed to seduce had been Lord Eddard himself. What the stories did not mention was the steel and the determination that lurked in her goodmother’s eyes and heart, and every action. Ashara Dayne much like Catelyn Tully had been through much during her life and was someone to be respected, feared even.

She learnt of her goodsister, Jeyne Sand’s death from illness, Lady Ashara spoke little of her daughter now, and when she did her words were laced with pain and sadness, a sadness it seemed Sansa shared. Alys knew how the news would affect Jon, he had always been very, very close to his sister, closer to her than to his trueborn cousins, or so Robb had told her once. They received word from Jon some two moons after Lady Ashara and Sansa’s arrival back at Winterfell, Stannis Baratheon had died from wounds taken whilst taking the Twins, but before dying the man had made Jon promise to fight for his daughter Shireen’s right to the throne, and to Westeros. And had named him Lord Protector of the girl, and as such Mors Umber had been given the Crossing by Jon, the proclamation signed by Stannis in his last moments.

Her husband returned to them a moon after that, delayed by snow and by more deaths. He looked ragged and tired and broken in so many ways, wars had come and destroyed much of their lives, she knew, and yet she must share more bad news with him. And so a day afterwards, she sits with Jon, her father, Lady Ashara, Ser Arthur and Sansa in the Lord’s Solar to discuss all that has happened since they last saw one another. She speaks first. “Death has befallen us, the Bastard of Bolton killed my daughter, severed her from this life for no better reason than he could. He mutilated my son, the heir to the North. I ask what is to be done to Lady Walda and her child, and the Dreadfort. Will we allow such a house to continue on?” Her voice shook toward the end.

Jon took her hand and held it tightly under the table, her father looked as angry as she had ever seen him, and his voice shook with barely concealed rage when he spoke. “What happened to the bastard? Is he still alive, or is he dead?”

Alys swallowed once then spoke, her voice shaking. “He is dead father. Ser Davos saw to that, his head has rotted away on the spikes above this castle’s walls.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Jon spoke, his voice soft, and quiet but no less chilling than her father’s tone had been in its anger. “Lady Bolton gave birth to a stillborn girl. House Bolton is at an end, completely now with the Bastard’s death. The Dreadfort will be given to a lord loyal to Winterfell and to House Stark; we cannot afford to have lordless peasants and minor lords roaming the lands. There is more we must discuss. With Stannis Baratheon dead, his daughter is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, by right of conquest on the part of the Baratheons. This man calling himself Aegon Targaryen, may be who he claims to be, but as of late I heard he had not yet taken King’s Landing.”

“Surely you cannot mean to abandon Allyria Jon? Not for some girl you’ve never met before?” Lady Ashara exclaimed.

Alys felt Jon’s grip on her hand tighten at his mother’s words. His voice was cold when he replied. “And you would know all about that wouldn’t you mother? Leaving family behind for someone chance met along the road? Like you and father? Or should I say Uncle Brandon?”

A shocked silence filled the room, Alys looked at her husband questioningly but found that he was looking determinedly at his mother; the Lady Ashara looked stricken as if she had seen a ghost, as did Ser Arthur, her father and Sansa shared in her confusion. “Explain what you mean Jon.” Alys asked softly.

Jon turned to her and his eyes were filled with so much pain that she wished she could kiss it all away. His voice seemed choked when he spoke. “When my uncle Lord Eddard returned from the war, it was with his sister’s bones and not her live person that he returned to Winterfell. Everyone knows of how he fought three knights of the Kingsguard, the best three knights of Aerys Targaryen’s Kingsguard to get to his sister, how he and his six companions rode and fought them. But no one ever speaks of how he left that tower, not with just his sister’s bones and Lord Reed, but with two other people, a babe, his nephew and the Sword of the Morning.” At this Jon looked at Ser Arthur and suddenly Alys gave a deep gasp as did her father, though Sansa did not react. “That child was left in Dorne, with someone whom Lord Eddard knew well enough, some even say he loved her. The child grew up and in time came to love his adopted mother and family, both in Dorne and in the North. But he was lied to, I was lied to.” At that Jon stop, tears freely flowing down his cheeks and falling onto their entwined hands, Alys tightens her hold of his hand and brings her other hand up to his cheek to stroke away his tears.

“It was done to protect you sweetling.” Alys hears Lady Ashara whisper.

“Robert Baratheon would have put you to death, no matter you were his Lyanna’s child.” Ser Arthur says.

“You should have told me mama. I, I have lived a lie. My whole life, I thought that my father was a Stark of Winterfell, but he was actually a mad rapist who tore the kingdoms apart simply because he couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.” Jon fumes.

“Your mother went willingly with him Jon.” Ser Arthur replies calmly.

“What? She was betrothed to Robert Baratheon, why, why would she leave him for someone who she knew was already married?” Alys hears Jon ask, sounding terrified.

“Because she cared not for Robert, and she was young and foolish. Please Jon you must understand, all that we have done has been for your protection. I love you as my own flesh and blood even if you are not, you are my son all the ways that count, and Jeyne was always your sister.” Ashara says to Jon, her tone pleading.

Jon looks at his mother, then he looks at her, and Alys can see the panic the fear, the confusion in his eyes, not caring that there are others in the room she brings his head to rest on her breast and strokes his hair murmuring soft words to him. “Where is Jeyne? Why is she not with you and Sansa?” Jon asks.

Alys sees Ashara look at Ser Arthur quickly before she says. “She was grievously ill Jon, she, she died before we left.”

Jon is silent for a long, long time, Alys can feel his sobs, they wrack her body just as they wrack his, and her heart breaks for him, he has lost so much, they both have. Eventually he speaks. “She is buried in Starfall? Is Edric home now?”

“Yes sweetling.” Lady Ashara says.

Jon moves his head from her breast and looks straight at his mother then and in a tone that brooks no argument. “When this war is done, and the Wall is secure, I shall pay my respects to her. And I shall tell her the truth.”

Talk then turns to the south, as Alys knows it must. “So you are convinced that this Aegon is the actual Aegon, my brother?” Jon asks.

“Yes my lord. Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn seem convinced that he is who he says he is. Else wise they would not have committed their forces to his cause.” Ser Arthur says.

Jon snorts at that, Alys her head on his shoulder can feel the noise reverberating through his body. “Those two have been hungering for justice since the sack, they don’t care if Aegon is who he says he is, so long as they can kill some Lannisters they will be happy. I do not like that they betrothed Allyria to this man, even if he is my brother, without asking myself or Edric.”

“Edric had just come home when we received news of Aegon taking Storm’s End. He was in no fit state to make lordly decisions.” Ashara says defensively. “And we knew not where you were sweetling.”

Jon merely stares at his adopted mother then and then says in a cold voice. “Very well, but if that man mistreats Allyria I shall kill him myself. I don’t care if he is my brother or my king or what not, he will not mistreat Allyria.”

“There is something more you should know Jon,” Ashara begins. “Willas Tyrell spent some time with us in Starfall, and has asked for Sansa’s hand.”

Jon stiffens, his body goes rigid. Alys can feel the anger and rage beginning to boil in him, and she tries to sooth him by running her fingers across his arms and chest like she knows he likes. Still his voice comes out angry when he speaks. “The nerve. They are traitors, they did not support Stannis when Renly died, they married their daughter to three different kings, and now Willas Tyrell has the nerve to ask for Sansa’s hand in marriage. Why? Does he think I am a fool that I do not see what he is trying to do?”

Sansa speaks then. “I do not think he wants to take Winterfell Jon. He is nice and kind and honourable, and I like him. A lot.” She blushes after saying that last part, Alys hides a grin behind her hand, as does Lady Ashara.

Jon says nothing, but instead turns to her father and says. “What news did we hear when we were at the Twins? Martyn Lannister has taken the Rock has he not?”

“Aye my lord he has.” Her father replies gruffly.

“Aye well let the south rot for now. We must face our attention northward and to the threat at the Wall. Then we can deal with the south, and my brother.”


	22. A Griffin A Griffin/ The Chosen One Returns

**Jon Connington**

Randyll Tarly’s host stood 20,000 strong in front of the walls of Storm’s End. Tarly led the host, and should he mean to give battle to them, he would more than likely win and retake Storm’s End for the boy Tommem, Aegon’s men numbered only 7,000, with some of the generals of the Golden Company still moving off from their outposts throughout the Stormlands, and the other Stormlords having retreated back to their own lands after they had pledged fealty to Aegon and Jon. Tarly’s men would test whether or not Aegon could take King’s Landing and whether or not Jon could hold Storm’s End justify being lord paramount of the Stormlands, anything less than a victory or Tarly and his men bending the knee would lead to the Stormlords rebelling and Aegon most likely being killed and all the hard work all the years slaving away being for nothing. That was something Jon could not, would not allow to happen.

Aegon himself seemed to be in a rather good mood, the king was not plagued by the whole host of worries and doubts as Jon was, for he was young, and the young are always confident of their abilities, they always think themselves invincible. “Ah Jon, you might smile. Tarly hasn’t yet tried to attack our walls, and our men’s moral is high, we may as well ride out and treat with the man and find out what it is he wants exactly.”

Jon repressed a sigh of impatience with his young charge, Aegon had always been wilful, reminding him more of Prince Oberyn than his own silver prince, but there was some sense in what the boy was saying, they held Storm’s End and whilst they had taken the castle, Tarly was not the sort of man to resort to trickery to try and win the castle back, though Jon was still wary of actually going out and treating with the man, and he said as much. “No, that’s what he wants us to do Your Grace. The minute we leave the walls of Storm’s End to speak with the man he will try and grab you and take you hostage and then we are lost.”

Aegon laughed then. “Oh Jon stop seeing shadows everywhere, if we go under a banner of parley, Tarly will be honour bound to speak with us peacefully, and besides if he is the man you say he is, the thought of seizing me won’t have even crossed his mind. Besides if it makes you feel better, we can place archers on the walls of the castle, and Acteon will be there, for the whole of that damnable host to see.”

Jon was silent for a moment as he thought over what the lad had said. It did make sense, Randyll Tarly was an honourable man, and a soldier, Aegon had taken Storm’s End one of the most impenetrable castles in the whole of Westeros, that would likely have raised him high in Tarly’s esteem. The fact that Aegon had Acteon, a red dragon that was growing bigger everyday and had been used in some shape or form to ensure that the Stormlords kept to their oaths could only hope. Perhaps he was being too over cautious or paranoid in his old age. He looked at Aegon and saw the expectation in the lad’s eyes, and sighing once more said “Very well, we shall ride out to greet him, but I shall ride in the front, and Rolly and Ser Harold will ride beside you at all times, and I want Acteon to be close enough for you ride him should something go amiss.”

Aegon beamed. “Excellent, so shall we lower the draw bridge then, I mean to speak with him now.” And that was when Jon realised he had been played, Aegon had likely already been planning on speaking with Tarly regardless of what he had said, and sure enough as Jon opened the door to his solar, he found Ser Rolly Duckfield and Ser Harrold Cafferen of the Kingsguard waiting outside for them both. As they walked down the steps toward the courtyard, Jon looked up at the battlements and saw the archers of the Golden Company standing there waiting for a command or some sign of disquiet, in case they were called to action. Aegon noticed him looking around and said “What? You didn’t think I would just agree to whatever you said Jon? I am the king, and a man grown now, I thought it only right I make act like one.”

Jon said nothing, and remained silent as they mounted their horses and rode out of the castle, Ser Rolly carrying Aegon’s banner, a member of the Golden Company carrying a banner of parley, out of the corner of his eye Jon spied Acteon, Aegon’s red behemoth sleeping half way between them and the castle. They stopped in the middle between Storm’s End and the Tarly host, and waited for what seemed like hours before Randyll Tarly and two other men, whom Jon did not know rode forth and greeted them. “Ah Lord Connington, so nice to see that the rumours of your death were ill contrived.” Lord Tarly said gruffly.

“Yes my lord. I admit the secrecy chafed at me, but it was necessary so as not to draw attention to his grace.” Jon said nodding to Aegon who had ridden up next to him.

Tarly turned his attention to Aegon then, looking him up and down as if scrutinising him and judging whether or not he was the real deal. Eventually he spoke. “Well he certainly looks like Prince Rhaegar, I shall give you that. Though if I remember correctly, Prince Rhaegar’s eyes were a deeper shade of purple. So tell me, I have heard it said you have a dragon, and where would this dragon be?”

Jon was about to reply, when he heard Acteon give a shriek and soon there she was having landed right next to Aegon’s horse, her green eyes were fixed on Randyll Tarly’s staring at him, Tarly stared back at the she dragon not even blinking, before he turned away and looked once more at Aegon. His voice shook slightly as he spoke. “Very well then, Your Grace. As you know I have come here with 20,000 men under the order of my liege lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. He ordered me here under the pretext of removing you and your forces from Storm’s End, however that was just a front used to appease the Queen Regent, what I have really been sent here for is to act as my liege lord’s proxy, and in his name bend the knee to you, and pledge House Tyrell and the Reach’s support to your cause and claim to the Iron Throne. Myself and my men are yours to do with as you see fit.”

Tarly had dismounted from his horse after he had spoken and was on one knee now, waiting for Aegon to raise him up. Aegon looked at Jon once hesitatingly, Jon merely nodded. Aegon was right, he was king now, it was time he acted as one. Slowly Aegon dismounted from his horse, and walked to Lord Tarly, and softly said. “Rise Lord Tarly, I Aegon Targaryen Sixth of my name, and rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby accept House Tyrell and the Reach’s pledge of fealty, and I promise to serve you as a just an able king for as long as I am able to.”

With that done, Lord Tarly stood back up and Jon breathed a sigh of relief, they know had more men and had managed to avoid more bloodshed. Randyll Tarly ordered his men to set up camp close to Storm’s End and along with his son Dickon and his squire Addam Appleton rode back to the castle with Aegon and Jon. Once they were back inside the castle Aegon immediately led them to the lord’s solar, much to Jon’s surprise and pride, he would have thought Aegon would insist that Lord Tarly rest first. Of course the minute they all were seated, the talk turned to how they would take King’s Landing. “Well Mace still holds the cards in King’s Landing, Queen Cersei believes that she has rested power from him by removing the old High Septon and installing one of her toadies in as the new one. But that High Septon will not last very long, there are things going on in the Sept of Baelor that are working towards House Tyrell’s gain and now for Your Grace’s gain as well.”

“What sort of things?” Jon asked suspiciously, Mace Tyrell had always been a very ambitious man, but that mother of his was the brains behind the whole host of schemes that the family had implemented over the years.

“I know not my lord. I apologise, but I am a warrior not a schemer. But, now that Your Grace has accepted our pledge of allegiance, the gates of King’s Landing will be open to you when you march for the capital.” Lord Tarly replied.

“And Lord Tyrell wishes for no reward for this service? He does not wish for his daughter to be wed to King Aegon?” Jon asked, feeling as if something was not going right.

“No my lord, he does not. He knows of His Grace’s betrothal to the Lady Allyria. His son Willas was in Starfall for a time, and was there when the betrothal was announced.” Lord Tarly replied.

Jon merely nodded. From what Varys had told them, the Stark girl, what was her name Lyanna? No that wasn’t it, Sansa? Yes that must have been it, yes she had been in Starfall for some time ever since Joffrey the Falseborn’s death, so it seemed the Tyrells wanted to extend their control to the north as well?

“Very well then,” Aegon said, speaking for the first time during their brief meeting. “My uncle shall be leading 10,000 Dornish spears up through the Dornish Marches to meet us at the Kingswood Forest, and now with you, and your men here, and with Jon being confirmed as Lord of the Stormlands we can march as soon as possible.”

Two weeks later after 2,000 Stormlords had assembled at Storm’s End, and suitable preparations had been made they marched. 20,000 Reachmen led by Randyll Tarly, 2,000 Stormlords led by Ser Harrold Cafferen and 7,000 members of the Golden Company led by Jon, Aegon flew overhead on Acteon, the red dragon covering the skies with her wings. There was only one thing that distracted them from their preparations, Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf son of Tywin Lannister, who had picked up greyscale during their interning at the Sorrows, died from a fever three days before the army was due to leave, and with him died the last male heir to descend directly from Tywin Lannister.

* * *

 

It took them a moon to reach King’s Landing, in which time they were joined by Prince Oberyn and 10,000 Dornish Spears and the similarities between uncle and nephew amazed Jon, Aegon became louder and more boisterous the more time he spent in his uncle’s company, and Prince Oberyn no longer seemed to be the quiet and sullen man he had been at Storm’s End when he had come to treat with them, it was if some life had been injected into him, then again Jon supposed he was that much closer to getting justice for his sister and niece.

As promised by Randyll Tarly when they arrived outside the gates of King’s Landing, they found no visible source of a threat or even defences, if they truly wished to they could sack the city, but Jon still had nightmares about what he had heard had been done to King’s Landing when the Lannisters had sacked the city, and Aegon was returning to his home, not trying to conquer an enemy city, and therefore Jon was glad when the boy ordered that no sacking, looting or raping should take place. Those who surrendered peacefully should be allowed to live, those who struggled, would die. Jon led his men through the Dragon Gate with Aegon flying overhead, and instead of finding a city completely desolate of life, or with people looking as if they were struggling not to flee, they were greeted with cheers, and the sound of people crying with joy. Jon lost count of the number of times he heard someone shout aloud “Long live the king. Long live King Aegon!” Or “The king has returned. Hail to the King!”

It seemed as if Mace Tyrell had stuck true to his word, and had delivered the city safely into Aegon’s hands, though Jon could not help the feeling that something was off even as he rode through the streets of the capital to the Red Keep, the sound of the denizens of King’s Landing cheering and applauding the return of their rightful king. At the foot of Aegon’s High Hill, Jon and Aegon stopped their approach and were greeted by Ser Garlan Tyrell, the second son of Mace Tyrell. The man bore a smile on his face, “Greetings Your Grace, my lord. Welcome to King’s Landing, welcome home. If I may lead you into the Red Keep, my father wishes to greet you as well.” And so Jon spurred his horse up the path toward the Red Keep, a way he had first come when he had been but a boy of seven, sent to squire alongside Prince Rhaegar all those years ago. Aegon got to the top of the hill first, and dismounted smoothly, before he got on a horse that one of the stable hands provided him, two members of the city watch opened the doors to the Red Keep for them, and Ser Garlan led them into the throne room. Where they found standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne, Lord Mace Tyrell, a smile on his face.

“Ah Your Grace! Welcome, welcome back to your city and to your throne.” Mace Tyrell said, bowing as he spoke.

Aegon spurred his horse on to the foot of the stairs and then dismounted, he stood a good two inches taller than Mace Tyrell and Jon nearly shivered at how much he sounded like Rhaegar when he said. “I thank you for all you have done for me Lord Tyrell, I owe you a debt and it shall not be forgotten.”

The next two weeks past in a blur for Jon, the surreal feeling that they had finally achieved everything that they had set out to achieve, Aegon was sitting on the Iron Throne, he held the Stormlands, Dorne and the Reach, with Aegon on the throne and Stannis Baratheon either dying or dead, his rule would be uncontested and the rest of the kingdoms would soon bend the knee. The Lords of the Reach led by Lord Tyrell bent the knee to Aegon and formally pledged their allegiance to him and House Targaryen forevermore, Prince Oberyn bent the knee and along with several other prominent Dornish lords also swore his allegiance to Aegon and House Targaryen and Jon did the same for the Stormlords. Amongst the usurper Robert Baratheon’s small council there was only two men left, one of whom had fled to the Vale the night of Joffrey Baratheon’s death, the other was the Spider, that eunuch, that chief of manipulation Lord Varys, who was pardoned for serving the usurper and his sons and was reinstated to the position of Master of Whispers on the Small Council by Aegon. Jon himself was named Hand of the King formally in the same ceremony, and Ser Rolly Duckfield was named Lord Commander of Aegon’s Kingsguard, a Kingsguard that as well Ser Rolly and Ser Harrold included, Ser Loras Tyrell- who had never been in Dragonstone in the first place- Ser Daemon Sand with there being three spaces left for three knights from the remaining three kingdoms once they bent the knee.

Aegon appointed his uncle Prince Oberyn as master of laws, and thanked him most profusely for pledging his support to the cause, and spoke of how much he looked forward to meeting and wedding his betrothed Allyria Dayne, Jon could not help but think that if the girl was half as pretty as her sister had been at the same age, then Aegon would more than likely never think about his aunt Daenaerys ever again. A thought which did not worry Jon so much, despite the whispers that Varys brought them that Daenaerys had finally set sail from Essos with the Iron Fleet behind her commanded by her betrothed Victarion Greyjoy, who was now Lord of the Iron Islands, what with his niece and nephew either dead or missing, his brother Euron dead, killed by Ser Garlan. A terrifying thought, and yet one that Jon could truly bring himself to worry about at the present moment, not when their victory was still so sweet to taste.

There was one small smudge on the perfect victory though, the second day after Aegon’s coronation, the City Watch dragged in Cersei Lannister, the woman had been hiding in a brothel according to Ser Mors Sand, the new Lord Commander of the City Watch. Aegon had looked at the woman who had been the usurper’s queen curiously, though Jon watched her with some trepidation, he knew that the woman could have been Rhaegar’s queen, might have even been Aegon’s mother, had Aerys had the sense to see how much better things would have been. “Where is your son my lady? “ Aegon had asked.

“Dead, he’s dead because of you.” Cersei Lannister had replied sounding half crazed.

“Dead? But I gave specific orders for you two not to be harmed. I am not your father my lady, I do not agree with the murder of innocents.” Aegon had replied softly, Jon had snorted if what Varys had told them, Cersei Lannister was far from innocent.

It was then that Cersei Lannister had given a maniacal laugh. “Oh you foolish boy. Your men didn’t kill him, I did. I killed my sweet poor Tommem, to protect him from whatever foolishness you would have dealt him. He was a lion, a soft on admittedly, but a lion nonetheless, and he deserved nothing better than a mother’s last gift.”

The whole court had been shocked into silence, by the woman who had just admitted to killing her own son, her own flesh and blood, out of some mad act of safety. Aegon had looked disgusted with her and his voice was as cold as the ice on the wall when he spoke. “Give her to Muelor, I do not wish to see her again.” And so Cersei Lannister had been executed that very day.

The daily business of running the kingdom took up much of Jon’s time, so much so that thoughts of who had now claimed dominion of the Casterly Rock and Lordship over the west easily slipped through his mind, and as such the issue was put on the back burner for some time, until three moons after Aegon’s coronation, a raven arrived from the rock writ in Martyn Lannister’s hand declaring that he was coming to pledge allegiance to Aegon. And so a moon after the raven arrived, Martyn Lannister and his aunt and cousins did arrive, with them they brought Lord Edmure Tully, who had been kept a hostage in the Golden Tooth since the Red Wedding. Martyn Lannister was according to Varys a young lad of sixteen, who had served as a squire during the War of the Five Kings, and had since dealt ruthlessly and efficiently with any possible rebel lords in the Westerlands. The Westerlings, that house that had been the co-conspirators with Lord Tywin in instigating the Red Wedding, had been crushed with words when Sybell Westerling had protested the withdrawal of Martyn’s cousin Joy Hill’s betrothal to one of her sons. Ser Rolph Spicer had tried to amass the men around Castamere to rally for his sister and deal with the insult dealt by Martyn, the man had never returned back to his castle after Martyn Lannister had met with him. Lord Crakehall had challenged his authority, demanding to know why he should have to pay his dues to some stripling boy, and according to Varys Martyn Lannister had sent the man a boar’s head, the message clear, Lord Crakehall had stopped his protests.

So Jon could understand why Aegon felt nervous dealing with the man, even if he was only a few years younger than him. Lannister bowed before Aegon, and swore his oaths of fealty as did his relatives. Once that was done, however, he did not move away as his relatives did, instead Edmure Tully walked forward and stood next to him. Martyn Lannister spoke in a soft voice, but one could hear the power and authority that voice commanded. “ Your Grace there is one more issue that I wish to speak with you of.”

Jon stood rigid at the foot of the throne waiting for what the boy would say, “Go on Lord Lannister.” He heard Aegon say.

“As you know Lord Edmure has been a hostage of Lord Lefford’s since that damnable wedding at the Twins. What happened at that wedding was a sham, and has disgraced both my house and House Frey, though House Frey has paid the ultimate price for its part in the wedding, I do not wish for my house to suffer the same fate. My uncle ordered that wedding not myself or my kinsmen, therefore I wish to offer this as a way to pave for forgiveness for the wrongs my house has done the Starks and the Tullys. If you would agree to make sure that my right and my children and their descendants rights as Lord of the Rock and Warden of the West will be secure, then I propose that Lord Edmure and Lady Alysanne Lefford marry to secure the peace between our two peoples.”

“Is Lord Edmure agreeable to this and what happened to his Frey Bride?” Jon asked curiously.

“I am my lord, Your Grace.” A rather thin looking Lord Tully says. “My wife Roslin and my daughter died of a winter fever at the Twins, we had word from Mors Umber when the event occurred. I believe wedding Alysanne Lefford will be for the best of the realm in establishing peace between House Tully and House Lannister.”

“Very well then I see no reason why this cannot be done.” Aegon says.

“One more thing Your Grace.” Martyn Lannister says, and Jon Connington is amazed at the boy’s cheek. “I wish to marry the Lady Margaery.”

Jon sees the amused expression on Aegon’s face and hears it in his voice as he says. “That is not for me to say. It is for Lord Tyrell and for Lady Margaery herself. Do you have any complaints my lord, my lady?”

“None Your Grace.” They both reply as Jon knew they would. And so it is that two weeks later a double wedding occurs at the Great Sept of Baelor and the commons have something to celebrate.

A moon later Allyria Dayne arrives in the capital along with her nephew Lord Edric Dayne and several cousins from High Hermitage and a retinue that includes Princess Arianne Martell. Jon watches as Aegon falls head over heels in love with Allyria during the month that leads up to their marriage, and he feels glad that Aegon has found something that neither he nor his silver prince ever managed to find in life. Their wedding in the Great Sept of Baelor brings out every lord and common person in the kingdoms to have bent the knee to Aegon so far and is celebrated for a long, long time. Two moons in fact.

* * *

 

They had been made aware of the divisions within the Vale between those lords led by Bronze Yohn Royce the Lord of Runestone and those in the pocket of Lord Baelish the current Lord Protector of the Vale and former lord of Harrenhal. The divisions arose after Lord Royce and those lords calling themselves the Lords Declarant opposed Lady Lysa Tully marrying Baelish a man whom they all thought was beneath a widowed Lady Arryn and was a schemer and toady to the Lannisters, and if Varys can be believed they are not wrong. The man sold out Ned Stark to the Queen, and was responsible for the war between the Lannisters and the Starks that resulted in nearly all of the Starks being wiped out, that is something Jon knows could be useful in bringing Lord Stark to heal.

Desmond Stone served as knight to Lord Royce in Runestone, and came to King’s Landing as the man’s envoy as well as to pledge the secret allegiance of the Lords Declarant to Aegon and Allyria. And it is him who informs Jon of Mya Stone, Robert Baratheon’s bastard daughter, and the last remaining Baratheon of marriageable age. Jon who had been desperately searching for any relative from the main Baratheon Line whom he could marry to better secure his hold on Storm’s End and ensures his line continues, after he is gone, is relieved when Desmond tells him about the girl, and he is not the least bit concerned when he tells him, “She’s like Robert was when he was young, headstrong and stubborn. But she is a lovely girl underneath all that.” For he only needs to wed her and then bed her so that he can continue his line and have heirs, he need not fall in love, not now, not now that Aegon sits the throne.

And so he arranges along with Desmond Stone to bring the girl to court so he may meet her and court her. And court her he does, for a whole month he speaks with her and uses all of his life experience to charm her and make her agreeable to the marriage, he does not try and flirt with her, and it seems she appreciates that. He merely tells her that as his wife, she will be the second most powerful lady in Westeros behind the Queen, and as a legitimized Baratheon she will hold more power than the girl who has married her former lover. She seems amenable enough to the thought of wedding him, that after a month of courting her he goes to Aegon and asks his former ward to legitimize the girl. Aegon who has been married for four moons by this point and is expecting a child, simply stares at him and says “Very well then my lord.” And so Mya Stone becomes Mya Baratheon, and they wed in the Great Sept of Baelor eleven months after Aegon took King’s Landing.

With that done, Jon returns his focus to the situation in the Vale and with Aegon and the rest of the small council- that includes Varys, Prince Oberyn, Lord Lefford, Grand Maester Gormon Tyrell, and Ser Rolly- they discuss what could be done to remove Littlefinger from power. “We could always send Acteon over there and burn him out.” Prince Oberyn jokes one time, after hours of countless discussion where it seems as if they are getting nowhere.

There are a few laughs but no one takes the suggestion seriously, thoughts of mad King Aerys still to prominent in the memory. Desmond Stone who sits in on these meetings speaks next. “Perhaps the Iron Throne need not do anything just yet. Lord Baelish’s year is quickly coming to an end, and he has done little to appease the Lords Declarant, Lady Lysa may love the man, but she loves her son more. She will allow Baelish out the moon door, if it is what she views as best for her son. Lord Yohn Royce could ensure she sees it that way.”

There is some murmuring at that, but then Aegon speaks, sounding tired. “If that is so why then did Lord Royce not make the move four moons ago, or even last month when Jon had married Mya Stone?”

Desmond Stone smiles tiredly at the King and says. “Because his cousin was in Littlefinger’s pocket until two weeks ago. Lord Yohn has just managed to make Lord Nestor see the error of his ways.”

There is some murmuring at that as well, before Aegon says. “Very well. I shall give Lord Yohn another three weeks, if Littlefinger is not ousted by then, I shall take charge myself and see that Littlefinger is out the moon door whether Lady Lysa likes it or not.”

With that Desmond Stone goes, and they move onto the next issue of import. “Word from the Twins my lords, Your Grace.” Varys began. “Stannis Baratheon has died. Meaning Lady Shireen is his heir, not a problem you might think as she is still up at the Wall. However, before he died he named Jon Stark as his little girl’s lord protector, and Stark according to my sources seems determined to place her on the throne.”

There was much murmuring at this and eventually Aegon spoke. “Well I guess there is only one thing to do then, I must fly to Winterfell myself and remind Lord Stark why it was that Torrhen Stark bent the knee in the first place.”


	23. Farewell To Light

**Jon**

Darkness and the cold were their constant companions on the wall. After so long fighting in the south, Jon had thought he would have forgotten the cold and the solitude that often graced you when you stood watch on the Wall, but he had not. For a whole year he and the men of the north had been here, helping the Night’s Watch fight the White Walkers, wights and all the other things that seemed to be trying to breach the Wall. They were having some albeit limited success, they knew now that the wights fell to fire, and so caches of fire had been put into the pits north of the wall, and when the wights came arrows were fired, plain arrows, causing the wights to stumble into the pits that was when the fire arrows were unleashed and the dead things burned.

Still more and more of them came each night, for that was when the cold was at its strongest, and with the sun seemingly lost in the maze of winter, the nights seemed to last for an eternity. Patrols had been sent out by his uncle Lord Commander Benjen Stark, and fewer and fewer men were returning alive, the last patrol to leave Castle Black had been some four weeks past and so far there had been no sighting of them, though there had been an increase in the frequency of attacks from the wights and the other creatures that followed them, giants, aurochs, mammoths, those creatures who had not come south with the wildlings were coming south now in greater droves then anyone had ever seen and with them they brought death and destruction.

Jon had brought 5,000 men with him of those 2,000 men had died and countless of those men who had died had risen again quicker and quicker each time, leaving them no time to burn the bodies before they rose with pale blue eyes and the coldness thickened, and more fighting and death continued. Jon’s uncle had ordered that there be no more patrols from either Castle Black or the other castles on the Wall, and Jon had ordered his remaining men to fan out in a defensive formation to the south of Castle Black along with the wildlings who were being led by Tormund Giantsbane, Mance having been killed during one of the earlier battles. They were camped out on the Gift, now, reports had reached them of Wights beginning a brutal march south of the wall toward Last Hearth, and the fighting had been fierce, wights, mammoths and giants had fought them and more and more men had died, the fighting had lasted for four nights, endlessly with no sunlight, the clouds keeping the sun away and the night remained. Until eventually the sun came through and the sound of wings beating forced the mammoths and giants to flee, as if some sort of primal instinct had kicked in.

The wings had belonged to a dragon with green and bronze scales, the beast itself was as big as one of the biggest mammoths that Jon had seen, its fire was and orange yellow, and Jon had been very surprised when he had felt the beast’s conscious beating against his own, like a ram battering against the walls begging to be let in. When Jon had unwillingly let the beast into his mind, he found that the he was a she, and that he could control the beast with his mind, and had even managed to see through the beast’s eyes as he had sent her out to help out at the wall and deal with any number of problems that seemed to have arisen since her arrival, mainly the increasing number of attacks by the wights and giants there, the mammoths were all dead now, that much had become clear after a scouting missing through the dragon’s eyes reported as such. The wildlings that were camped with them had seen Jon control the dragon and had become terrified of him; they all spoke to him now with a mixture of fear and respect, but mostly fear.

That skin changer Varmyr Sixskins had bowed his head and those of his creatures before Jon after one of Rhaegal’s scouting missions had produced food and the end of the mammoth threat. Confused Jon had asked Tormund why the wildlings were bowing before him and calling him names in the Old Tongue, and for once the great big man had simply looked at Jon before saying “They believe you to be a saviour that our tales speak of. The ability to control the dragon and your direwolf shows you to be a warg lad, a great warg, the true warg.” His words made no sense to Jon, but there was no one else for him to speak to and so he simply let it pass, accepting the wildlings new found fear for him with some reluctant acceptance as it now meant that were more willing to listen to his commands though they always seemed worried that he was going to feed them to the great green beast that was now at his side as often as Ghost seemed to be.

Rhaegal joined Jon approximately six moons into the campaign at the wall, at that time only wights, giants and mammoths had breached the Wall, making it through gaps in the defences in Eastwatch and other castles that were growing increasingly weak, with many of the men coming to Castle Black to defend it as that seemed to be where the White Walkers were making their appearances. Jon had taken his men and those of the Wildlings with him to Castle Black to fight the White Walkers, but had found that they had disappeared into the ether at the sighting of his dragon, whilst the brothers of the Night’s Watch stared open mouthed at him, Melisandre, the red woman who had sealed her fate to that of Stannis’s proclaimed that he must ride north if he wished to save the world, for the sword of fire was located there. Jon had merely stared at her and had told her that in no uncertain terms that he was not leading a group of men north of the wall into their most possible death and leave the best defence the wall had against a possible breach by the White Walkers. Melisandre had laughed and going with some of Stannis’s men who had been left behind to help defend Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen had ridden north of the wall. Her body and those of her companions had been found in the Fist of the First Men by the sole survivor of the party uncle Benjen had sent north, their heads gone, bodies left and burnt covered in ice.

Selyse had gone hysterical at that, news of her husband’s death had left her broken and crazed and she had refused to leave the tower where she was living with Shireen, who was now Queen in her own right. With Melisandre dead, Selyse point blank refused to leave for Winterfell, even though some of her own men begged and pleaded with her to go south to Winterfell. When Jon pointed out that her husband had named him Lord Protector and that as such he could force her to leave for Winterfell along with Shireen, Selyse had merely looked at him and said “My husband named you Lord of Winterfell and gave you a most fertile wife. He has named you Lord Protector, but he did not name you regent, as such I, as Shireen’s last living family am her regent, and therefore you shall do no ordering and we shall remain here.” Jon had been helpless then, and when the darkness had finally entered Castle Black, a gap somewhere in the gates, that allowed thousands upon thousands of wights to enter, Jon had ordered men to guard the tower where Stannis’s wife and daughter stayed, only to turn round and find the tower engulfed in wights as if the White Walkers knew what was in that tower and were instructing their thralls to kill Shireen and Selyse. Jon had shouted for Rhaegal and directing the dragon to the tower, had prayed and prayed that the gods would forgive, as he ordered the green dragon to blow fire onto the tower, the tower had fallen to its ruin and the wights had been killed, as had Selyse and Shireen. Their bodies charred beyond recognition, the guilt of what he had done constantly warred with the fact that those wights had been killed and he had saved many more lives.

The nightmares were bad, very, very bad. Dreams of dead things in the water, on the snow, everywhere, and a feeling that there was nothing he could do.  He’d taken to writing to Alys, telling her the basic things about what was happening at the Wall, but more to find out what was happening at Winterfell and the rest of the north. It was through that, he learnt that his little boy Rickard was growing into a tough young lad, who was already speaking and walking about ordering the servants in a manner that reminded Alys of Bran, and he learnt that apparently Roger Ryswell the new Lord of Barrowtown had written to Winterfell asking if Jon’s ‘mother’ would be interested in wedding him, Jon’s mother had replied saying she wished for the war to end before considering any proposals. Jon merely bristled at the nerve of the man, his house had sided with the Boltons in betraying Robb, and it was merely out of a sense of not needlessly killing more than the Boltons that had stayed Jon’s hand. Sansa too had apparently received offers for her hand from northern and southern houses in the Riverlands, and even a raven from Willas Tyrell speaking more about a betrothal. It was in one of her letters that Alys told him, that he should write to Sansa as well, that she felt lonely in Winterfell, and that she was desperate for his approval. Jon had never thought that Lady Like Sansa would want anything to do with him, she had never paid too much attention to him when they were all growing up, but he supposed he ought to listen to his wife, she had never been wrong about anything after all.

At first his letters were short and to the point, he knew not how to write something that Sansa would find interesting, at least the Sansa he remembered from his time at Winterfell, the one who liked songs about knights and fair maidens. From what Alys wrote, his cousin was not like that anymore, there seemed to be a more worldly sense to her that his mother had apparently said came from experiencing things that change you on some deep fundamental level. However, the more he wrote to her, the more he came to appreciate her, her knowledge and understanding of northern politics astounded him as did her compassion and humility. Gradually he grew to realise that was he was beginning to feel for her was completely different to how he had viewed Arya or even Jeyne, he was beginning to fall for her and that was what worried him, she was his cousin and he was married, it was not right, he loved Alys truly he did, he loved her and their son, he could not understand why he was feeling the way he was, and he could not very well ask his uncle.

Such concerns though took a back foot the day Aegon Targaryen arrived at Castle Black on his red dragon. This man who was Jon’s brother had taken King’s Landing and now had the fealty of the Westerlands, the Riverlands, Dorne and the Stormlands, with only the Iron Islands, the Vale and the North not having bent the knee, and Jon could guess why this man had come to the Wall. He had greeted him coolly, Alys had written of how the man had acted in Winterfell, and towards Sansa, and he was half tempted to state that he would not bend to pressure. But over time found that he liked the man who would be his brother, though the man still did not believe that Jon was his brother, even when Lord Howland spoke the same tale he had told Jon, so Jon had sent for Ser Arthur reluctantly, and it was whilst they were waiting for Jon’s uncle to arrive that the White Walkers found a gap in the wall for them to cross, and an ancient horn was blown, and the wall began to crumble down.


	24. Chaos Reigns

**Benjen**

The wall was falling, had been falling for the past six moons, bit by bit, piece by piece, the ancient ice defence against the wildlings and death itself, that had been in place since time had been recorded was falling, and there seemed to be nothing they could do about it. Even with the addition of the northmen and the lords of the Reach and Crownlands who had come from ship to Eastwatch per the instructions of the boy calling himself Aegon Targaryen, their numbers had swelled, but so to had the numbers of dead things coming back to life.

The White Walkers had yet to fully breach the Wall, even with it crumbling all around them, there seemed to be some sort of spell or some sort of ancient charms holding the creatures back, they hovered at the fringes, throwing ice spears and arrows at the men who patrolled the walls, killing them with the cold and raising them up again to attack their brothers in arms the next night. Fire had proved useful against the wights, but too many of them were coming up to take the place of the fallen. It was not just the wights either, it was the giants and the mammoths and the spiders and other unspeakable things that Benjen and many in the north had believed to be long dead.

These creatures were shaking the foundations of the wall, tearing it and bringing the ice down, crashing and cascading to destruction, they took the Black Brothers, the northmen it mattered not who was on the wall when they attacked, for when they did the Wall weakened by the sound of the horn still ringing in the sky, crumbled all the same and the men on the walls plummeted to their deaths. Even the dragons, those two great beasts, fire made flesh seemed unable to completely hold off the coming hordes of dead things and those other creatures, sure the creatures and the wights burnt in the fire, but more always came back and some of the unspeakable evils came back burning with fire, their eyes red instead of blue, and Benjen could have sworn one of them once called out his name, in Lya’s voice and that had terrified him more than he could say.

Lya, gods he had not thought of his sister in such a long time, not since Ned had come home and told him what had happened, not since he had learnt of his sister’s death and the hand he had played in it. When Ned told him Brandon’s bastard son was staying Dorne for a time with his mother, Benjen did not question him, though he was smart enough to put the pieces together to know that Brandon had never lain with Ashara Dayne at Harrenhal, no that had been Ned, no this child was Lyanna’s, her and that idiot of a Prince, Rhaegar. At Harrenhal both he and Lyanna had been star struck, seeing the grandeur of a southern court for the first time had made them both silent with awe. Lyanna more so than Benjen, he’d been too engrossed in listening to Robert Baratheon’s stories of what he and Ned had gotten up to at the Eyrie, and watching Brandon flirt shamelessly with girls despite the fact that he was to be married to Catelyn within a month of the tourney. Then Prince Rhaegar had played that god damned song of his and Lya had cried, his Lya, brave, strong Lya who had never cried and had always comforted him when he had been upset, and of course the god’s damned prince had had to see her crying and pouring her drink over him. Benjen sometimes wondered what would have happened if he had been the one to don the armour of the Knight of the Laughing Tree instead of Lya, had she remained with Howland and Ned whilst he rode in the lists and knocked those squires silly, he could have done it, he had said as much at the time, but Lya would have none of it, and of course the prince had found her then, and that was when the seeds for what happened next had been planted.

As he looks at his nephew now standing next to him, the same solemn expression he saw both Ned and their father wear so many times over the years he thinks that perhaps nothing different would have happened, Lyanna would still have run away but perhaps with a different man and not the crown prince. Jon Sand now Stark, gods that felt strange to think let alone say, he wondered how his nephew felt, just like Ned the boy was not one to say much, only speaking when necessary and even then each word was carefully thought out and measured. Jon knew the truth of his parentage and that he and the boy calling himself Aegon Targaryen were brothers, were kith and kin, in bonds stronger than what Benjen had with him, and yet he did not wish to return to King’s Landing with his brother, if there would be a King’s Landing to return to at the end of all of this.

“They’re breaching the eastern walls.” Jon said, snapping Benjen away from his thoughts and back to reality.

“What?” he asked, not sure he had heard correctly.

“They’re breaching the Eastern walls, the Weeper and his men.” Jon repeated.

Benjen cursed, he had not wanted to believe the rumours that the Weeper had sold himself to the White Walkers and to their unpaled march for destruction, but seeing the man for himself, the pale blue skin the haunting eyes, Benjen knew the rumours for fact and cursed himself for the day he had not slit the bastard’s throat. “Fire the arrows.” Benjen shouted and watched as his command was relayed across the wall, soon enough 300 arrows dipped in fire were unleashed on the Weeper and his men, the men died, each one of them falling screaming to their deaths, the Weeper advanced on, neither his horse nor his person being affected. “Unleash the catapults.” Benjen shouted, and the stones whirred from their holding and knocked down the giants that had joined the Weeper and still he marched on.

The wall shook, Benjen managed to hold onto a nearby piece of Ice and held on some of the men were not so lucky, they continued to fall down and when they landed the Weeper cut them down and they rose again and wights hell bent on bringing death and destruction to them all. Benjen turned to Jon and said seriously “Get on Rhaegal Jon, get on your dragon and find your brother, otherwise we will be damned if the Weeper gets onto the wall.” His nephew nodded and whistled and got onto his dragon flying away to find King Aegon. Benjen looked down and was horrified to see the wights clambering up the wall, dressed in black, placing their feet and hands in the footholds only the Black Brothers knew about. “Fire all arrows now!” He shouted his voice high in his panic. The arrows came whirring out, striking left, right and centre, and a great pit of fire was seen where the Wights had fallen and burnt to their deaths, and still the Weeper marched toward the Wall.

The Wall shook again, and more pieces of ice began to fall away, bringing more men to their deaths. “Fire more arrows!” Benjen shouted, but no more arrows followed his command, “Where are the arrows?” he shouted.

Ser Allister Thorne appeared then, covered in blood and looking battered and bruised. “The arrows are done Lord Commander. The last of the archers fell down to their deaths with the Ice.”

Benjen swore loudly, and then said “Reports from the other castles?”

A grave look passed over Ser Allister’s face then when he replied. “Wesbridge has fallen; the White Walkers have taken the castle. Eastwatch is besieged by the wights and those ungodly beasts.”

Benjen swore once more, Wesbridge had been heavily fortified with the wildlings of the Gift placed in charge of holding it under Mance Rayder’s command, if they were all dead then they would likely be marching for Castle Black for some revenge. “What news from the Shadow Tower?”

“None my lord. Nothing since the raven two moons ago asking for more aid.” Ser Allister replied, his tone growing more desperate.

The wall shook once more before Benjen could reply, and this time when he looked across he could not see the Weeper advancing toward the wall, feeling the panic beginning to swell in his chest he yelled “Where is the Weeper? Where has he gone.”

He felt the hairs of his back stand on end when he heard one of the men shout back “He’s disappeared my lord.”

“Well don’t just wait for my command some of you go look for him, kill him and burn him once you’ve found him. And the rest of you continue killing these god damn wights!” He shouted.

Above he heard the beating of wings, and some form of relief course through him, maybe just maybe the Wights would all die now, perhaps. The dragons roared and Benjen took cover and shielded his eyes, but through the shadow of his gloves saw the wights burn to their deaths, heard the screams of the Giants and Mammoths as they burnt to their graves as well. The other creatures made not a sound, not a sound at all, but he knew they were likely burning as well.

The dragons flew off further down into enemy lines, and Benjen moved towards the edge of the wall to observe the results for himself. The charred remains of the wights and giants and mammoths perhaps some 3,000 of them were all that remained on the ground. The bodies of those other creatures were there as well, glowing as the sun began to set and the cold began to come in. They had survived for another day, but would they make it through the night? He walked toward the winch cage, saying to Ser Allister as he got in “The wall is yours Ser Allister, find me should they come again.” With that done, he waited in the Wince Cage alone with his thoughts and his nightmares.

His dreams were old, the day Ned returned for a visit at Winterfell, happier times, when the wolf pack had been whole and complete. Brandon was cracking jokes, Ned had a wry grin on his face and Lyanna and he were listening intently to Brandon and Ned’s stories. Their father sat there listening to all of this and watching them all, his wolf children, a rare smile on his face. The dream changed as it was wont to do; here he was meeting Jonella Cerwyn for the first time, he knew why, his father wished to appease some of  his bannermen and so was hoping to arrange a betrothal between his youngest child and the heir to Castle Cerwyn, she could have been his wife once, Jonella Cerwyn, their betrothal had never been finalised, and after the rebellion he still could have married her and become Lord of Castle Cerwyn one day, but he wanted to take the Black to atone for leading Lya to her death, and so the betrothal was never formalised and Ned never asked him why he took the Black. The dream changed, and now it was a three eyed crow and a broken boy with a direwolf head calling out to him. Saying the same words over and over again. “Joramun, the boy is Joramun, he must blow the horn.” As usual Benjen understood not what they meant, Joramun was just a tale, a tale told to children late at night, this horn of his had never been found, if it had the Wall would have resisted it. And what boy were they speaking of?

His sleep was disturbed by a knock on the door. Clearing the sleep from his eyes he sat up and called for whoever it was to come in. It was his steward a boy named Gendry who had come with some southerner hoping to find someone, they did not know who, but the boy’s eyes had grown wide as saucers when he’d seen Jon. The boy had not taken the Black, but Benjen knew there was something he was hiding from, and someone in particular. “Yes what is it lad? Have they found out where the Weeper is?”

“No my lord, but the red woman, she, she has returned.” Gendry said.

Benjen immediately got up; he was still in the same clothes he had worn throughout the day. “Where is she?” he asked.

“In the hall my lord, being questioned by Lord Stark and his grace King Aegon.” Gendry replied.

Benjen nodded his thanks and made his way to the hall. Upon entering he found it largely deserted, with only Jon, King Aegon and Ser Allister Thorne present, the red lady, Stannis Baratheon’s red lady Melisandre was hunched in the middle of the hall a cloak wrapped around her, her red hair was matted and looked filthy. “When did she get here?” Benjen asked.

“Riders found her outside of the northern gate my lord. We’ve only just managed to get her inside this hall.” Ser Allister replied.

“Has she said anything?” Benjen asked standing in front of the woman.

“She keeps repeating the same words over and over again.” Jon said.

“What words?” Benjen asked and then turned to look down at the woman before him, who he now noted was covered in blood and ice, and was rocking backwards and forwards. “What happened to her?” he asked worried.

Before anyone else could reply, the Lady Melisandre spoke in a high and shrill voice. “It was all a lie, all of it. The darkness is everlasting, there is no true saviour. We will all die, the boy has been found, Joramun will come and the wall shall fall.”

“What do you mean?” Benjen asked her.

Melisandre tilted her head up to look him in the eye, and a smile came onto her lips. “Ah the wolf pup, the bearer of so many secrets. Tell us what you dream pup, of the darkness and the boy with the wolf’s head. The darkness is here now pup, and the Great Other is knocking on our gates.”

“What does she mean uncle Benjen?” Jon asked.

“Have the White Walkers crossed?” Benjen asked Ser Allister.

“No my lord, none of them have been sighted.” The man replied.

“How long has the sun been down?” Benjen asked.

“Five hours Lord Commander.” King Aegon replied.

“Oh they won’t come now, they’ll come tomorrow, when the boy awakens, when he awakens from his slumber. Three horns shall blow and darkness and ice and fire will fall.” Melisandre said shrilly.

“Ser Allister take her somewhere safe, none of the brothers should see her like this.” Benjen said. He was about to say more when a deafening howl was heard from outside, and the floors began to shake and the walls began to rattle. More howling, a primitive noise, something Benjen had heard only once before in the Lands of Always Winter, the threat, the monsters from the dark had come. Death was coming, and it was not alone.


	25. Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White Walkers and beasts threaten the realm, but more secrets are to be revealed. Will the realm prevail, or will darkness fall before the dawn?

**Jon**

From high above he could hear the sound of horns blowing in unison, once, twice, thrice. The White Walkers were finally coming then. The battle was well and truly under way, from beneath him, he heard Rhaegal give a triumphant screech as more and more of the wights below them were reduced to ash and dust. Beside him his brother, it still felt so strange to say that, yelled in triumph as well, Jon snuck a quick glance below them, on the ground  the hordes of wights and giants and mammoths seemed to have been reduced to nothingness, it seemed victory might be imminent, though he still heard the words Melisandre had uttered two moons ago.

None of them had been able to make sense of the words Stannis Baratheon’s red woman had uttered, for just as she had finished speaking, the whole of the hall of choosing had shaken with such force Jon had been afraid that it was about to fall in on them. He and Aegon had run out of the hall and had been completely shocked by what they had seen, the Wall in all of its mighty glory was falling, the structure that had stood for 8,000 years since the first battle of Dawn was falling down, and all kinds of horrors were coming forth, spilling into the land of the living.

He had mounted Rhaegal and had flown high into air with his brother beside him and they had reigned fire down on their enemies, but the White Walkers though the initial line had been submerged in fire and ash, the rest of the ancient beasts soon realised when to avoid the dragon fire, and so the wights and giants came marching through as the first line of attack. But in much greater numbers than Jon was used to, thousands and thousands of them came rushing through the debris that the Wall had left, and Jon was not completely certain that the creatures were entirely alive. Their assault was relentless, one beast would fall only to be replaced by five more, so that by the time the lines were done and ash, the dragons would be too tired to be of use against the White Walkers who would attack, in great numbers riding through the debris on ice spiders and bears, slicing men down one by one, and raising a whole new army of wights.

There were other creatures marching with the White Walkers, it was not just the wights and the Giants, other beings that had been laying dormant for thousands of years perhaps as long as the White Walkers or even longer. Creatures that were half human, half beast, that even the White Walkers seemed to be scared of. Though these creatures could be killed by ordinary steel, they never gave the men on the ground to kill them in one on one combat fighting instead in groups, gathering around a soldier or three at a time and picking them off. Whenever they attacked, it would be coming close to light, or as many hours as there could be of light now that the Wall had fallen, the dragons would be spent, needing to rest, Jon and Aegon covered in a litany of bruises from having to fly down low to reign fire on the wights and mammoths. They needed to learn more about the creatures they were facing if they were to stand any chance of preventing them from getting further than the Gift.

Jon jumped down from Rhaegal, the light had come and with it some semblance of peace for now atleast. He made his way toward the Hall of Choosing, where he had once sat during his first few days as a black brother, Aegon Targaryen walked beside him, things were not so simple between them, the King had accepted Jon as his brother after seeing him ride Rhaegal in countless battles, but there was still some tension between the two of them. Still they had a common foe right now, and with Shireen dead, lying in a hole somewhere, her ashes that was, Jon had made sure that both she and her mother had been burnt, his title as Lord Protector seemed a bit empty. They entered the hall and Jon was surprised to see a figure standing there speaking to his uncle, a person he hadn’t seen for at least two years. “Sam?” he asked.

“Jon!” His old friend beamed.

“I thought you were in the citadel?” Jon asked as he walked up and shook his old friend’s hand.

Sam swallowed, nervous once more as he saw Aegon standing beside Jon. “Well I was, I mean I’ve nearly completed much of my chain, but the Watch needed me more, and well I’ve found out some things that could be useful for us.”

Jon was interested, but the King spoke first. “Well? What is this news you have to share with us?” he asked.

Sam stuttered out the next few words. “Well we know fire and obsidian can kill the wights and White Walkers, but the Lord Commander told me about these new creatures that have been attacking with the White Walkers. The half men half beast creatures.”

“Yes what of them?” Aegon asked.

“Well, they, they can be beaten, but first a sacrifice has to be made.” Sam replied somewhat sheepishly.

“A sacrifice? What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“A blood sacrifice, these creatures are beings of Ice. The only way to end their threat is to sacrifice a creature of fire.” Sam replied.

“But the dragons are our only hope of defeating the White Walkers! We can’t just sacrifice the only tools we have for beating them so we can beat some half human beast!” Jon argued.

“Aye, I will not give up Acteon to beat some half human evil, it cannot be done. I will not allow it.” Aegon said, his voice laced with anger.

“It may be the only choice, the realm suffered once at the hands of the dragons. Such creatures are not meant for peace.” Jon’s uncle Benjen replied.

“Aye the realm bled because of the dragons once before. And they are always tiring out before they can be of any proper use.” Randyll Tarly argued.

“There must be another way, there has to be.” Jon said, searching for an answer, he had not seen Ghost since that day two moons ago when the wall had fallen, he did not wish to believe his direwolf was dead.

“What of Melisandre?” Aegon asked softly.

“The red woman? She is a person, not a creature of fire. You cannot be considering sacrificing her Aegon.” Jon exclaimed.

“She has not been of use to anyone. Stannis Baratheon died, and he was supposed to be the Prince, this chosen one. She has gone mad, she must die, she is of fire. Her god if he has any power will allow us to beat these creatures.” Aegon said a stubborn set to his expression.

Jon sighed, and looked toward his uncle and his friend trying to gauge their reaction. His uncle had a very serious expression on his face when he replied. “Aerys Targaryen was more than passing fond of burning people alive as well. I do not like this solution, but if it will save us from these beasts then we must do something about it.”

Sam was next to speak. “It could work, we will never know unless we try it.”

“Aye it could work, or it could fail. One way or another we must find out how to beat these beings.” Randyll Tarly said.

Jon sighed and then looked at Aegon and said “Very well, then we shall have to do it.”

And so that night in front of the men who remained at Castle Black some 10,000 men of the 20,000 that had been left to hold the Castle whilst other men had been sent to relieve Eastwatch and Shadow Tower, watched as Melisandre of Asshai was roasted by dragonfire, both Rhaegal and Acteon unleashed jets of fire onto the woman, who did not die screaming but laughing, calling out to her fiery god on high. Once the burning was done, Jon felt sick to his stomach but he could not rest his weary head, instead he had to stand sentinel next to his dragon watching from one part of the Wall that still stood, waiting and watching for the creatures of darkness to come out once more.

The first signs that something was amiss, was when Jon heard wolf howl, not just any wolf, his own, Ghost had returned from wherever he had been for the past two moons, but with him came another direwolf, one with black as night fur and yellow eyes that seemed maddened with pain or anger. Ghost was covered in blood, whether it was his own or another being’s Jon knew not, he only knew he was relieved to see Ghost again, but then a horn sounded, followed by a screech, a screech that sent the hairs on Jon’s arms stand up and soon the beating of wings could be heard.

Ice Dragons, beings of fairytale, had been awoken, from where he knew not, but they were coming fast towards them, ridden by those half human half beast creatures, three of them flying as fast their ice covered wings would allow them. Jon stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as the dragons came and covered the land and the people below in Ice, the giants fled from the beings, as did the White Walkers, the men on the ground stood not a chance. Eventually Jon was snapped out of his revelry when he saw Aegon and his red she dragon Acteon flying to meet these beasts, whistling for Rhaegal, Jon waited a moment before jumping onto his dragon’s back, drawing Winter’s Fury from its sheath on his back.

The battle was fierce, Rhaegal smashed into one of the Ice Dragons and through his connection with the dragon, Jon felt himself shiver at the contact, a cold unlike anything he had ever felt. Both beasts screeched, and soon Ice and fire were being unleashed high in the sky tooth and claw were being engaged, and neither beast seemed to be winning any headway. Jon heard a triumphant roar from somewhere near to him and saw one of the Ice Dragons and its rider plummeting to the ground Aegon and Acteon had won, but both looked to be worse for wear.

“Jump onto the beast Stark!” Aegon shouted over the roar of the ice and fire.

Jon barely heard the words, but drawing Winter’s Fury, he loosened the straps holding him in place on Rhaegal and nearly fell of the dragon as Rhaegal dived down to bite at the Ice Dragon’s neck. Clinging on for dear life, Jon felt himself go cold all over as a White Walker touched him on the arm. He jumped back in fright as the cold of the creature’s blade touched his skin, his left arm froze over. “Come Stttttttttark.” The creature seemed to say. Its eyes glistening maddeningly.

Jon gasped for breath, and struggled to raise his sword high enough to remove the White Walker from his arm, but then just as he had managed to get his sword up ready to strike the White Walker was killed by a gust of ice, and Jon turned to find one of the half human beasts looking at Jon with something akin to familiarity on his face. “Jon Stark, we meet at last.” Jon turned to look at where the White Walker was and found to his surprise that the creature had faded. “Oh don’t worry about that white walker, she’s dead. Just like the rest of them, apart from that foolish king of theirs who your king is fighting right now.”

“Who, are you?” Jon asked, wondering why the beast’s dragon was not attacking Rhaegal and what had happened to the other dragon that had attacked Rhaegal.

It seemed the beast recognised what Jon was looking for, for he said “Don’t worry your dragon defeated the other Ice Dragon. I must thank you for that. But surely you must know who I am Jon Stark. I am in all the tales told of the Long Night and the White Walkers, it was I who wed the white walker in the tales.” Jon was stunned into silence. “Ah, so you do know who I am. That is good. I was afraid most of you would have forgotten me.  After all it has been so long.”

“What are you talking about?” Jon said

“I am you, you fool. I am the Night’s King. He who wed a white walker for love, but was crossed from the histories for my sins. I am you, just as I am he of the wolf head in the trees beyond the cave.” The creature spoke, its head twisting into a wolf’s head.

Jon was silent. “Such a shame, that I have to kill you. It would have been nice to get to know you, well me I suppose as I am now. But alas, I did strike a deal, and my wife was never the most patient of women.” The beast said, and so the battle began.

Dragon fought dragon, steel clashed with steel, and Jon was in a daze throughout the whole of the battle. On and on it went, ducking and dodging. Hacking and slashing, avoiding jets of fire and ice as they were unleashed from either dragon, Jon was dazed and not sure what was happening, but it seemed some part of him knew on instinct what needed to be done. And so he allowed his body to do the fighting, as if by memory, when the beast swung from his left, he blocked it, when he swung from his right the beast blocked it. On and on it went, the endless dance, as all around them the creatures of the darkness died and killed, as Aegon fought the Queen of the Others, the battle raged on and on.

Suddenly Jon found a gap in the beast’s armour and lunged off of Rhaegal onto the beast’s dragon, and shoved his sword into the beast’s armour, but the beast leapt of his dragon as well, and brought Jon tumbling with him down to the ground. Where as they fell the hacked and slashed at each other, drawing blood both red and blue, until the ground came into contact and the beast turned to Jon and said “This is where it ends Jon, this is where I die Where we both die.” The beast disappeared, and Jon crashed into the snow covered ground, his ice covered arm broke and the force of the impact knocked Jon unconscious.

Around him the Queen of the Others bled to death, her form reverting back to the form she had had as a young woman, a woman with fiery red hair and green eyes. Aegon Targaryen roared his victory for all the world to hear, but more men were dying around him, Jon Stark the Lord of Winterfell heard none of this though, he dreamt an old dream. They were seven against three, a bat, a falling star and a white bull, and he, he was the key. A ray of sunlight pierced through the grey clouds and rain began to fall.


	26. Mother of Dragons

**Daenaerys**

It had taken them six moons to sail from Meeren through the Gulf of Grief round the smoking ruins of what had once been Valryia, to reach Lys where her betrothed Victarion Greyjoy had declared that the Iron Fleet would dock for some time to repair and recuperate. The voyage from Meeren to Lys had been a hard one, a voyage wracked by storms, high waves, and once or twice Dany could have sworn she had seen things in the water moving toward them, things she had only heard in fishermen’s tales when she had been a little girl. She had mentioned these sightings to Ser Jorah who had merely grunted something about Ironborn folklore- her bear had been none to impressed with her decision to marry Victarion Greyjoy, but what choice had she really had? - when she mentioned what she had seen to her betrothed, he had merely looked at her before saying that it was likely the haunted things from Valryia’s past coming to wish her well on her journey to reclaim her birthright. She liked the sound of that.

Those six moons travelling and the two moons they had spent docked in at Lys had given her the chance to get better acquainted with her betrothed and the people who followed him. Victarion Greyjoy was not a handsome man, he was rough and ragged around the edges, there was a certain bitterness or anger about him, the way he held himself and the way he gave orders certainly showed that. But there was also another side to him, a side that rarely came out, a loving and caring side, her betrothed was a man with feelings beneath all that hard exterior of the warrior and king to be he played on when around his men, and it was that man that Dany was beginning to fall in love with. It was something of a relief she had to admit, to be marrying someone who was just as passionate and strong willed as she was, Daario had been slain when he had tried to turn traitor, and she did not want to even think about Hizhadar or Drogo not now.

Another thing she had learnt of her betrothed during the time they waited for the repairs to be made was that he had grown up in the shadow of his older brother Balon, and had lived most of his life in fear and in envy of his other older brother Euron. She learnt from some of the stories her betrothed told her, that whilst Balon had been fiercely proud and protective of them and the old way, it had been that pride that had ended with all of his children being killed trying to accomplish a way of living that just was not possible anymore. His tales of Euron Crow’s Eye were much more dark and sinister, tales of how Euron had abused their youngest brother Aeron as a youth, and how he had dabbled in sorcery and kinslaying, and how he had sent Victarion across the narrow sea to find her and claim her for him. “He gambled on me being as loyal a servant to him as I was to Balon.” Her betrothed had said one night when the wine had loosened his tongue. “He did not count on the fact that I wanted you for myself, or that the horn he had given me was a fake.” Yes Dany had thought then, she had proved that when she had returned from her journey in the wastelands, no horn real or not could take her dragons, for she was their mother and they would only ever listen to her beck and call.

Victarion had returned to their ship one day with a smile as big as the sun, he had fucked her hard and quick that day, in an animalistic way similar to how Drogo used to  take her in the early days of their marriage, and she had found his passion invigorating. When she asked what had caused such a change in his behaviour he had replied that his brother Euron had died a vicious death in Oldtown, slain by Baelor Hightower as he tried to claim the Citadel, and something within the Citadel, that according to one of the men Victarion had found in Lys claimed his brother had said would make him King of Westeros, and all the known world.

It was also in Lys that she learnt of the supposed rebirth of her nephew, long thought dead. Aegon Targaryen or someone calling he by that name had claimed Westeros, had taken the Iron Throne back from the hands of the usurper’s family, with the help of Jon Connington and his dragon Acteon. She had at first thought that this was some sort of miracle, the gods had answered her prayers for one more member of her family to be alive, but then she remembered the mummer’s dragon, and a feeling of rage brindled inside of her, at the thought of this pretender sitting on her chair, on what was her right, and her right alone. She decided then and there that she would take the Iron Throne from the clutches of this man calling himself her nephew, and she would roast him in Drogon’s fire.

They set sail from Lys the same day she later learnt that the pretender Aegon Targaryen set sail for the wall to battle some strange creatures of lore. Rhaegal had disappeared from their ships long ago, during their stay in Lys, her bronze dragon had grown restless ever since that day when Quentyn Martell had thought to set him free and tame him, like the green boy he was. She wondered where her dragon could have gotten to, Aegon already had a dragon, but where her Rhaegal could have gone she knew not, unless it had something to do with the visions she kept having of a blue rose on a wall of ice. But what would he wish for in the cold of the north of Westeros, where there was no fire to keep him warm?

The wintry conditions on the seas made it so that what would normally take a two moon journey took four moons, as they set sail from Lys to Gulltown, where the red priest Moqorro said she had friends waiting for her. Those friends it turned out where Lord Petyr Baelish and his wife and step son. Lord Baelish was named Lord Protector of the Vale through his marriage to Lysa Arryn, and he had greeted her with the type of smile that she had often seen Viserys wear when she had come down from her morning bath, that smile had scared her somewhat, but she had learnt to look past that smile and toward the intellect that lay in the mind of the man. Lord Baelish, spoke with her and her husband, but mainly her about what sort of state the kingdom, her kingdom was in, apparently the pretender had been off fighting a war in the north for a year and half by the time she had landed, and had left but a small garrison of some 1,000 men to defend King’s Landing. At first she had been very tempted to launch a attack and take King’s Landing right away, but Lord Baelish had told her that that would be most unwise, he suggested instead that first she needed to meet with the lords of the vale and win their support before she could sit comfortably and plan her full assault.

And so she had met with the Lords of the Vale, separately for it appeared that Lord Baelish’s wedding to Lysa Arryn had caused a division amongst the usually Standfast loyalty of the Vale Lords, at Petyr’s insistence she met first with the Lords Declarant. All six leaders of the Lords Declarant came to Gulltown to meet with her, and it soon became apparent that their leader was one Bronze Yohn Royce, the Lord of Runestone. “Princess Daenaerys, it is an honour to meet you and to speak with you.” The man had said bold as brass.

“Queen Daenaerys do you not mean Lord Royce?” She had fired back, already feeling her anger mounting.

“Ah you must forgive an old man, but I believe it is your nephew King Aegon who sits the Iron Throne and as such, you are a Princess are you not?” Royce had replied.

“The boy who names himself Aegon Targaryen and my nephew is nothing but a pretender, a false claimant to the throne. Who I shall deal with soon enough.” Daenaerys had replied angrily.

“Ah but, Your Grace must forgive an old man’s memory. For his grace King Aegon fought hard to reclaim the Iron Throne, winning it much the same way as his ancestors did during the conquest. And Lord Stark has testified to the truth of his origin as has Lord Connington.” Royce had said smiling slightly.

“Lord Connington was thought dead for many a year, having drunk himself to death. Is it not a bit convenient that he has suddenly reappeared now with a boy who claims to be the son of his fallen friend?” Lord Petyr had asked.

It was then that Anya Waynwood had spoken. “You would like to think that would you not Lord Baelish? After all we all know how you loath the Starks.”

“Lady Waynwood, you wound me. Would you of all people not wish to see a woman on the Iron Throne thus proving once and for all that Women are more than capable of ruling?” Baelish had replied.

Waynwood had bristled but had remained silent. Lord Royce had spoken once more. “Say we do bend the knee to you Princess, what you want from us. Winter has come, and our people wish to spend time with their loved ones and to survive what looks to be perhaps one of the longest winters in living memory.”

Dany had swallowed once before saying. “Your armies and your loyalty. I know the Vale took no part in the War of the Five Kings. I know that your armies are strong, and able to call upon 40,000 men. Bend the knee to me, and I shall take half of those men and take King’s Landing whilst the pretender sits in the North.”

There had been much murmuring amongst the Lords Declarant at that, and Dany had looked at Lord Petyr for a brief moment and seen a brief smile flit across his face. It seemed the Lords Declarant the influential ones at least were about to swing to her side. Lord Royce eventually spoke, clearing his throat; the man said “Very well then Your Grace. We shall give you our swords, though we wish for 10,000 of  our men to remain behind to hold the Vale in case the North should attack us.”

Dany nodded her agreement at that and so it was that the Lord Declarant who had been causing so much trouble and bother for Lord Petyr came to bend the knee to her. The other lords of the Vale soon joined their brethren in bending the knee to her, so that she now had the whole of the Vale behind her. Banners were called and Dany moved to the Gates of the Moon with Lord Baelish and Ser Jorah accompanying her. More things were discussed, Dany learnt of the victory at the Wall, the defeat of whatever it was that had been threatening the safety of the North, and the pretender naming Jon Stark, his brother and the true born son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, adding one more Targaryen and nephew to her family, one more person she would have to kill.

Once word reached them that Aegon the pretender was back in King’s Landing, his army sailing back from White Harbour, envoys were sent to Winterfell, Ser Jorah was sent under the banner of parley to make this Stark boy see sense, and Lord Nestor Royce was sent to Riverrun to speak with Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Baelish remained with her in the Gates of the Moon, and four moons after landing she found out she was with child.


	27. Eyes Of A Griffin

**Jon Connington**

King’s Landing had haunted his dreams for so long, the last time he and Rhaegar had seen each other had been in King’s Landing before the Tourney of Harrenhal, where they plotted and planned how Rhaegar would get the lords of Westeros behind him to remove Aerys from power. They had been so full of hope and ambition, young as they were, naive as they were, then Harrenhal had happened and everything had gone wrong, Rhaegar wrote to him and told him to stay away from the capital, and like the obedient puppy he was he had obeyed. He wondered if he had stayed if he could have stopped Rhaegar from committing the folly he did. The next time he was in king’s Landing was to command the royalist army to remove Robert Baratheon from being a threat; he failed and was sent to exile across the narrow sea.

Now he was back in King’s Landing the hand of a different king, a younger king and one who was fresh of a heady victory in the north against foes that many had thought the myths of legend. Aegon had been away from King’s Landing for two years, and had returned just two days ago, and in that time Jon had stayed in King’s Landing and had seen to the running of the kingdoms. As Hand of the King he finally realised why Tywin Lannister had accumulated so much power, with Aegon in the north Jon had spoken with the King’s voice making decisions on things that were brought before him as he thought Aegon would have wanted them to be made, when such a situation was lacking Jon made the decisions based on how he would want the problems to be resolved and so far it seemed that his judgement had been correct.

One such issue that had needed to be decided upon Aegon’s return was the issue of the Kingsguard. Ser Rolly Duckfield had been named as the Lord Commander when they had landed in Westeros but Rolly had died fighting alongside Aegon at the Wall, slain by one of those pale eyed demons that Aegon so rarely spoke of, to make things worse, it had been Aegon who had ended his former mentor’s life, through Acteon’s dragonfire. There was a haunted look in Aegon’s eyes whenever he spoke of Rolly and that battle, but there was still the issue of the Kingsguard to decide upon. Ser Cafferen had also died fighting in the north and so the Kingsguard had all sevens lots available for the first time since its history. After much heated discussion between Aegon, Jon and the small council it was eventually decided that Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Garth Hightower, Ser Daemon Sand, Ser Balon Swann who had been in Dorne during the fighting, Ser Brynden Tully and Ser Lyle Crakehall and until Ser Jaime Lannister was found the seventh position would remain empty for Aegon was most insistent on meeting the oath breaker face to face.

The Kingsguard had fallen upon hard times during the reign of the usurper and his brats, Ser Barristan Selmy was the only knight of honour in that guard, or so Varys told them, but now Ser Barristan lay dead in Meeren, fighting for Princess Daenaerys, and the other knights of the Kingsguard apart from Ser Balon Swann were dead. Jon knew from looking at the Kingsguard and its Lord Commander Ser Brynden Tully that the white knights would regain their fabled reputation in the years to come, hopefully under Aegon’s long and successful reign.

There was another issue of considerable import for the king and the small council to discuss, the issue of the succession. Whilst he had been in the north Aegon had apparently found his long lost brother, the product of the union between Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. The boy or rather young man was named Jon Stark, and the whole of Westeros had thought for the longest time that he was the bastard of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, but it appeared that Eddard Stark truly had cared more for his family than the usurper as he had left the boy with Ashara Dayne to raise for a time, before the boy came to Winterfell. The boy had quite the formidable reputation in the north according to Aegon, having freed the north from the clutches of the Boltons and the Freys and from the White Walkers. The council though still wished to discuss what would happen should Aegon die without a male heir.

The small council was a changed being from when Jon had had his small stint as hand, even then he had not really been part of the meetings as he had been given the handship and then sent off to war. The members were as thus, Jon as Hand, Varys as Master of Whispers, Grand Maester Gormon Tyrell, Master of Ships Paxter Redwyne, Master of Laws Prince Oberyn Martell, Master of Coin Daven Lannister, and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Brynden Tully. It was a council of experienced men and proven warriors, something that would be needed. Aegon begun the meeting, “My lords I thank you for coming today on such short notice. But it is important that we discuss the issue of my succession what with there being the threat of another war what with the kingdom not quite secure yet.”

Jon spoke next. “Thank you Your Grace. Now I believe the matter rests with whether or not we should formally announce Lord Jon Stark as heir to the throne until a son is born to you Your Grace, given that Lord Stark was named Lord Protector for the now deceased Shireen Baratheon and also holds the loyalty of the north who may try and claim independence once more.”

There was some murmuring at that, and Paxter Redwyne, who really it seemed was the proxy for his aunt Olenna Redwyne said “The northmen would be foolish to try and claim independence now. Especially after his grace helped them defeat those demonic beings. Though I agree with Lord Connington, that there is no trusting what Stark may do if pressured enough. I suggest naming someone else as heir until a son is born to you, perhaps even Princess Alysanne could be named heir?”

There was even more murmuring at that, before Daven Lannister snorted breaking the murmuring. Lannister in his booming voice replied to Redwyne’s comments. “We all know what happened last time a King decided to name his daughter as his heir. Dragons danced and Westeros bled. What is there to say that her grace the Queen will not give his grace sons for a long time, and then when the princess is fully grown a son is born to the king? What then, will we bleed once more? No I say let Stark acknowledge his Targaryen parentage formally and be named heir.”

Jon could see Aegon nodding in agreement with that Lannister was saying, it was something the lad had argued many times with Jon in private since he had come back from the north. It seemed Grand Maester Gormon shared Lannister’s views. “It would be more prudent to name a male heir who is of age already and has proven battle experience rather than a child Your Grace. Especially with the Faith Militant still armed and a real threat to the peace of the realm.”

Ser Brynden voiced his agreement as well stating. “I do not agree with Lord Redwyne’s belief that the north will try and crown Lord Jon Stark king. They did so once before because there was a tyrant sitting the throne and the other options were not suitable ones. Now that His Grace sits the throne, I believe that the north shall remain solidly behind the Iron Throne, especially with Lord Stark’s connection with His Grace. I believe he should be named the heir until a son is born to you.”

Jon still had his doubts, he knew he could never truly trust a Stark, not after what that wolf whore had done to Rhaegar to cause the deaths of thousands, but still it seemed that the others of the small council were determined to see the lad named as heir, and so Jon could only sigh and reluctantly agree to what the others had said. “Though I do not like it, I have to agree that there is more merit in naming Jon Stark heir, especially with the disparities between the faith Militant and its leader’s reluctance to disband.”

Jon saw Aegon smile widely then, before he masked his expressions carefully. He spoke in an iron tone similar to his father’s when he said “Very well then. Maester Gormon I want you to write a formal declaration, stating that until a son is born to me Jon Stark of Winterfell, will now be officially known as Jon Targaryen Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Prince of Dragonstone until a son is born to me and my wife.”

Two moons came and went before Lord Stark arrived in the capital to be formally recognised as a Targaryen and the Prince of Dragonstone. Jon Stark now Targaryen spent three weeks in King’s Landing and during that time, Jon watched as the lad laughed and talked with Aegon as if the two had known each other for most of their lives, though there were times when he thought some of his silver prince in the lad, some of the solemn and melancholy nature of Rhaegar was in Jon in a way it could never be in Aegon and in some way that was a large comfort to Jon Connington knowing that something of what had made him love Rhaegar still lived on in more than one person. On more than one occasion Jon noticed that whenever someone brought up the issue of whom Stark’s cousin Lady Sansa would marry, Stark often changed the topic or looked quite annoyed at it being mentioned and when Jon sought to ask Aegon about it, his son who was not his son merely shrugged and said “Somethings are best left unsaid between family Jon.”

With that done, the attention of the council now turned to the other pressing matter of the Faith Militant and what the best approach was to dealing with them. Some of the members such as Ser Daven and Prince Oberyn were in favour of taking a more aggressive approach to dealing with them and perhaps taking steel with steel. Others such as Lord Redwyne and Ser Brynden suggested perhaps taking the talks more formally and more seriously for as Ser Brynden said “You have the legitimate claim Your Grace. You have a dragon, two if Lord Stark needs to be called. The faith bowed once to the dragons, they will bow once again.”

And so a meeting was called between the King and the High Sparrow who was now also the High Septon, the talks took place in the Great Sept of Baelor. Terms were discussed and bandied about, and eventually after four long days of haggling back and forth, the High Septon eventually agreed to disband the Faith Militant, in exchange for the Targaryen dynasty always once again protecting the Faith when it came under the threat. A round of celebration was held in the Great Hall of the Red Keep for three days to celebrate this triumph and the eventual bringing of peace to Westeros, when news came from Bronze Yohn Royce in the Vale and Daenaerys Targaryen and her betrothed Victarion Greyjoy had landed in Gulltown.

The small council was called late that night and the lords looked haggard and tired, and worn from the celebrations. Aegon himself appeared to be wide awake no doubt he had been spending time with his daughter Alysanne and his wife Allyria as Jon had not seen him at the feast for sometime before it had ended. “So my aunt has finally decided to come to Westeros, but she comes with the Ironborn who I was always led to believe were despised by the lords of Westeros. So my lords does she stand much chance of gaining the allegiance of any of the lords who bent their knee to me?”

There was silence for a moment and then Ser Brynden spoke. “The Riverlands will stand beside you Your Grace I can tell you that for certain. My nephew will not go back on his word.”

Ser Daven is the one to speak next. “Nor will my cousin. Martyn knows he owes much to you Your Grace. He will not betray you, nor shall the Westerlands.”

Jon is relieved to hear those words of reassurance from Ser Daven, the Westerlands though beaten and frayed during the war of the five kings, did not take part in the war at the wall and as such has been allowed to rebuild their strength which could help assist whomever they choose to support. Another such kingdom is the Reach, Jon notices how Lord Redwyne squirms under the intense gaze with which the other members of the small council fix on him. He stutters, “I am, I am sure that Highgarden and the Reach will stand beside you Your Grace.”

Prince Oberyn snorts. “Of course you would, unless of course Jon Stark decides to marry his cousin himself, then your lord puff fish will side with Daenaerys, and the kingdom will be torn in war once more.”

Redwyne bristles and Jon sighs deeply, of course it would be just like Prince Oberyn to say something like that to try and provoke a response. Before he can say anything though Lord Varys speaks, in that deceptively smooth voice of his. “It is all well and good speaking of who will support you Your Grace, it would be more prudent to speak of whom will side with Princess Daenaerys and whom stands the most to gain from siding with her.”

“And whom would that be then Lord Varys. What do your little birds tell you?” Aegon asks.

Varys smiles slightly, and Connington is reminded forcibly of the last time he spoke to Varys in King’s Landing just before the Battle of the Bells and he feels a chill go across his body. “Why Your Grace, those who have not been rewarded or benefitted from your ascension to the throne. Lord Baelish for one, I have already told you and Lord Connington what the man did to Lord Eddard Stark, and how he instigated the war between the Starks and the Lannisters and Qyburn has told you of how he plotted Joffrey Baratheon’s death. The man will wish to see himself raised to more power and will wish to bring his allies with him.”

“What more could the man wish for? He was made Lord Paramount of the Trident and is still Lord Protector of the Vale. What more does such a man hunger for?” Jon asks.

Varys turns to him and Jon sees the same look he had during the War of the Usurper when Jon came back to King’s Landing, the same sort of deceptively sly smile that makes Jon’s skin crawl. “Why he wants to be the one who Princess Daenaerys turns to. She is wed to a brute a man with no cunning whatsoever, she will need guidance, and Littlefinger thinks himself the master of the game, he will whisper in her ear and tell her poisons to get what he wishes. I tell you my lords, Your Grace, if you wish to avoid war, send an envoy to speak with the Princess and to deal with Baelish.”

“Will the Princess truly wish to speak with an envoy? Her proclamation clearly stated what she thinks of his grace and Lord Stark. What is there to say she has not already decided to wage war against us?” Lord Redwyne asks.

Jon sensing what Varys is getting at speaks then. “That proclamation was Baelish’s words coming through on paper, as Lord Varys said the girl has married a brute, and so Baelish is manipulating her to the best of his abilities. Remove Baelish and she will be willing to listen. An envoy must be sent Your Grace.”

Aegon had been lost in thought for the past few moments but looked up at the mention of his name Jon saw, so much like his father. “Yes, an envoy must be sent. Perhaps someone who will appeal to Daenaerys’ sensibilities. I believe Ser Osmund Kettleblack was one of Littlefinger’s lackeys during the reign of the usurper, perhaps sending him back with a message meant for the Princess might allow my aunt to better consider her position.”

“That would be wise.” All the lords present say and so it is decided, on the fourth day of the third month of the 303rd Year since Aegon’s Landing, Ser Osmund Kettleblack sets sail under a banner of parley for Gulltown to speak with Daenaerys Stormborn and give her the terms Aegon and Jon had decided. How successful he will be is uncertain, but Jon hopes that the man will be successful otherwise war will be inevitable and Jon does not wish for there to be more fighting, he has had enough of war for a life time.

The days turn into months as they wait for a response from Ser Osmund, only one raven came from the man stating he had landed in Gulltown, but since then no more has come through. The kingdom seems to be running smoothly and so Jon is given leave to return to Storm’s End for a brief visit. His return to Storm’s End worries him more than any business he might have with helping Aegon run the realm, that he knows how to do, being a father and a husband is still something so very foreign to him, even though he has been wed for three years and a father for two.

His wife is a very vivacious woman, lively and proud, he can see traces of Robert Baratheon in her, and though he had thought that that would turn him off, it actually makes her seem more attractive in his eyes, and makes it easier for him to speak to her, than if she were just a meek and submissive woman. Their conversations are eventful, she grew up a bastard learning nothing more than the basic skills needed to survive, and so she has spent much time with Jon’s castellan Gawen Storm a man who he was friends with as a boy, who has taught her the basics of running a true and proper household, and with Maester Calotte who has helped her with the accounts. She of course is a natural mother, doting on their son Nestor, who has his fiery red hair, but her deep blue eyes. Their son is already going to be a handful when he reaches maturity Jon can see that much, though he looks forward to teaching his son all about how to be lord and a kind and just man, something he never thought he would have.

He is still in Storm’s End when the raven comes from King’s Landing, writ in Maester Gormon’s hand, it appears that Ser Osmund failed in doing his duty, Daenaerys never heard Aegon’s terms and instead had the man imprisoned and then tortured. It seems war is inevitable, the only question Jon has is who will be the one to start it, this dance of dragons.


	28. The Moon And the Trout

**Nestor Royce**

The journey from the Gates of the Moon to Riverrun was a long and slightly tiring one for Nestor Royce, Lord of the Gates of the Moon. He was no longer the young and sprightly man he had been twenty years ago the last time a dragon had sat the Iron Throne, hells he wasn’t even as sprightly as he had been three years ago when Petyr Baelish had wed Lysa Arryn. He felt the cold more so now, the Vale had done well during what the maesters and the smallfolk were calling the war of the Kings, it seemed Lysa Arryn’s paranoia had paid off in some sort of regard. The Vale’s food supplies were all intact, their smallfolk were hale and hearty and their lands were untouched by the war. Of course Nestor knew that many of the Lords his cousin included had not wanted to remain out of the war, Jon Arryn had been a brilliant lord and his wards Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon were still remembered fondly in the Vale, so much so that when Stark was executed for the wrongful crime of treason, the Vale had been up in arms and ready to mobilise. It was not to be, and though the Vale had avoided the deaths that would undoubtedly come from the war, many people had questioned the honour in such a thing, especially when Baelish had come to wed Lysa Arryn.

Baelish, the man had honoured Nestor and his family by naming him to the Lordship of the Gates of the Moon and making what was once an honorary title and hereditary one, something for Nestor to pass onto his son once his days were done, instead of having to scrounge off of the main line’s holdings, like his father had had to do.  Still there was something about Baelish that made Nestor uneasy, he had known the man from his time as a customs official in Gulltown, he had seemed dedicated and hardworking, but his time in King’s Landing seemed to have changed him, he seemed more scheming and more conniving. Nestor knew why the Lords Declarant had arisen, Baelish wished for great things, things that were above his station, he wanted to use the Vale for these things, and Nestor knew that information had reached his cousin Yohn about Baelish’s involvement in Ned Stark’s death, and that was something that could never be forgiven. Nestor had played as Baelish’s ally in the Vale helping him win the other lords over, all the while helping Yohn and the other Lords Declarant undermine the man’s position. Until the dragon queen came.

Daenaerys Targaryen, the girl was young, but she had a fire to her, that Nestor remembered seeing in her brother Prince Rhaegar, she had dragons as well and was convinced that the iron throne was hers by rights, that King Aegon was not who he said he was and that the boy, Jon Stark- Targaryen now he supposed- was also an usurper and a threat. She saw threats everywhere Nestor knew, had heard her speaking in tongues with Baelish, the man was her hand now, and so things were beginning to look interesting at least from a political point of view, it seemed the Vale would finally be involved in the goings on of Westeros at last, just as Yohn had wanted. It had been Baelish who had suggested sending Nestor to Riverrun to try and bring Edmure Tully to the fold, Nestor had been good friends with Hoster Tully, the two shared a kinship, for Hoster’s father had married Nestor’s aunt and so the two had often spent much time joking and laughing amongst the banks of the Trident. Though Edmure Tully would be a stranger to Nestor now, he had not set foot in the Riverlands since Robert’s Rebellion, and then Edmure had been but a child. Still he had a role to play, and a job to do.

As the banks of the Trident began to disappear from view, Nestor heard his companion sigh with relief. “Thank the seven. I thought we’d never see the end of this godsforsaken river.” Lyn Corbray said. The man was in Baelish’s pay, was his man through and through, and had been sent along by Baelish to ensure that Edmure Tully got the message clearly, this might be a problem as far as Nestor was concerned, and Corbray was a fool, a man who thought with his sword and not his brain.

“Well remember what we spoke of Lyn. Try not to antagonize Lord Tully or his uncle before we’ve had a chance to properly explain everything.” Nestor said, as Riverrun’s great walls came into view.

Lyn Corbray had no chance to reply, for the minute the gates came into sight, they were greeted by riders, bearing the leaping trout standard of House Tully, rightfully restored to their seat of Riverrun, and Lord Paramountship over the Trident. “Lord Royce, Lord Corbray it is a pleasure to see you. Please follow me into the castle.” One of the men said, and so they rode into the castle and then walked into the solar where they were greeted by Lord Edmure Tully who looked exactly how his father had at that age, and his lady wife Alysanne Lefford.

“Ah Lord Royce, Lord Corbray so nice to meet you. I trust your ride was pleasant?” Edmure Tully said, a smile on his face.

“Pleasant enough my lord.” Nestor said. “I am sure you are aware of why we are here.”

At that the smile from Lord Edmure’s face fell and his shoulders tightened. Nestor saw the man’s wife lay a calming hand on his shoulder, though the man’s voice was cold when he spoke. “Yes I am, and I must say I am most disappointed that the Vale has chosen to side with Daenaerys Targaryen.”

“And why would that be Tully? Because you sided with the wrong king twice? Aegon Targaryen is a fake, and not the rightful king. And that Young Wolf was an idiot who made the wrong decisions.” Lyn Corbray snaps.

Nestor sighs internally, and is only thankful that it is Lady Alysanne who speaks and not her husband. “Forgiven me for asking this Ser Lyn, but is it not true that the Vale wished to fight for the Young Wolf when he rode to war? And is it not true that your own brother wished to wed the Lady Sansa in the hopes of allowing the Vale to march for the Young Wolf? And is it also not true that the Vale is being ruled by a man who was most involved in seeing to the war between the Starks and the Lannisters in the first place?”

Lyn is left speechless, and Nestor can’t but help think that this meeting is not going at all how he had envisioned it. Before he can speak though Lord Edmure speaks, and his tone is still cold. “There is no point in denying it Ser Lyn, we learnt the truth of what happened in King’s Landing during my goodbrother’s stay there, whilst Daenaerys Targaryen was off marrying a barbarian and the Vale remained sucking its own thumb. Daenaerys Targaryen claims to be the rightful queen, and yet she has done nothing to win the people to her cause. She has married Victarion Greyjoy and has therefore sealed the alliance with one of the Riverlands most common enemies. She was complicit in the death of Prince Quentyn Martell, and she has named my niece a traitor to the realm, simply because she was not there to stand trial with her husband when Joffrey the ill born was murdered. So tell me why should I bend the knee to her, when Aegon Targaryen has fought a war in the north to defend the realm he rules, and has done everything in his power to bring peace to Westeros?”

Sensing that this trip might be a complete failure unless he tries a different tact, Nestor speaks, “Perhaps that is true my lord, but what you must consider is that Riverrun and the Eyrie are bonded together through blood. Lord Robert is your nephew, and as such has been advised by Lord Baelish to declare for Daenaerys Targaryen, as I am sure you will agree saying no to a woman with dragons is not the best possible idea. You called your banners when the Young Wolf marched south, and rightfully so, for the Young Wolf was kin to you, but Lord Jon Stark is no kin to you, nor will any children he or Lady Sansa have be directly in line to succeed him as Lord of Winterfell. So why not help protect your nephew in the Vale and bend the knee to Daenaerys Targaryen, after all House Tully’s words are Family, Duty Honour.”

Edmure stiffens at his words, and Lady Alysanne links their fingers together. And it is she who speaks. “Is that a threat Lord Nestor? I was not led to believe that men from the Vale made threats such as that.”

“It is only a threat, if your fool of a husband does not agree to listen to the terms that we have come to discuss with him, Lady Lefford.” Ser Lyn says, his voice laced with venom and Nestor groans inside, why has this man come with him, has Lord Baelish finally lost his control.

“I will not have my wife threatened Ser Lyn, if you do so again I will send you back to the Gates of the Moon without a few fingers. Now Lord Nestor what are these terms then?” Edmure asks coldly, sounding more like his father with each syllable.

Nestor sighs aloud, this trip has already proven to be a failure, he knows that now, and he regrets it, almost as much as he regrets the part he agreed to play in the game his cousin is playing in the Vale. “Very well then Lord Tully, the terms are thus. If you and your bannermen agree to bend the knee to her grace, she will formally acknowledge you as Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, and she will even allow one of your children to become Lord or Lady of Harrenhal. She simply asks that you bend the knee to her and recognise her as the rightful queen of Westeros. And...” he pauses here unsure how to say what else was put into the terms, without causing a full on confrontation with Lord Edmure.

“And, there is more my lord?” Lady Alysanne asks.

“Yes my lady. Her Grace believes rightly or wrongly, that seeing as the Lady Sansa has just reached the age of maturity, and that seeing as you are her only remaining direct blood relative, that it is your duty to arrange a match for her, and for her to spend some time with the Queen.” Nestor says hurriedly.

Lord Edmure’s reaction is as expected, he tenses and his eyes narrow. His voice sounding even colder than it did two minutes ago, “I am not sure I can agree with that. For one my niece has reached the age of maturity and is already betrothed to her cousin Lord Jon Stark. It is not possible for me to end that betrothal, as Sansa is in Winterfell and wrote to me to inform me she was quite happy with the betrothal, and the King has given his own express permission for the match to go ahead. Therefore I cannot agree to the terms.”

Ser Lyn snorts. “Of course you’d say that. Was it not you who wedded the Frey girl after your nephew sent an Ironborn hostage to bring him ships? How did that end for you again Lord Tully? Oh yes, your nephew and sister both died. I tell you know Lord Stark will not live to see his wedding day, the Queen will not allow it.”

“That is quite enough Ser Lyn.” Nestor says sharply. “Forgive him my lord, my lady. I understand that you do not wish to recognise Queen Daenaerys as the rightful monarch, I am sorry for wasting your time. We shall leave as soon as our horses are rested.”

With that Ser Lyn gets up and walks straight out of the room, Nestor tarries by the doorway a moment, and after Lady Alysanne has bid her husband and he farewell Lord Edmure speaks, and he sounds tired not cold. “I know you did not wish to come here Lord Nestor. So why did you?”

Nestor swallows nervously and then says “Because you are in grave danger my lord.”

Edmure perks up at that and looks at him questioningly. Nestor deciding that he might as well tell the whole truth now after so long quickly explains. “Littlefinger means to see you and your wife and children dead; Ser Lyn was brought here for a reason my lord. I will ride away with him tomorrow, before he has a chance to get to grips with the castle.”

Lord Edmure simply stares at him for a long moment and then says in a choked voice “How do you know of this?”

“The man talks when he drinks my lord, it was not hard.” Nestor replies.

Later that day Nestor spends much of his time keeping an eye on Lyn Corbray and making sure he does not spend too much time around the Tullys, though it is hard what with his other duties and trying to keep his nerves in check. It comes to a head just after dinner, Ser Lyn has been in his cups once more and confronts Nestor as he is making his way back to the Great Hall. “I know you spoke to Tully Royce.” Corbray slurs.

“I am sorry Lyn but what do you mean?” Nestor says.

“I know you told him about what Lord Baelish sent me here to do. You Royces are too damn honourable. That’s why you lot never succeeded in getting into Lysa Arryn’s bed and yet Lord Baelish a sellswords grandson did. It is why Daenaerys Targaryen will sit the Iron Throne and Lord Stark and his brat and Aegon the false will all die.” Corbray slurs.

Nestor merely stares at the man before calling for a guard. “Please see Ser Lyn to his room, he has had too much to drink. Keep a man on his door at all times as well please.”

“Yes my lord.” The guard says.

Nestor watches the guard escort a very drunk Ser Lyn back to his room, and finds his thoughts going back to the Vale, and My Stone- Connington now- that fierce woman, he had helped raise her, once Robert Baratheon had become king, Mya had become like a second daughter to him. She is every inch the Demon of the Trident’s daughter, fierce, passionate, stubborn and protective of those she loved and cared about. She would make a fine Lady of Storm’s End, she had always been destined for great things Nestor knew, had known from the minute she had said her first word. That she had named her and Lord Connington’s son after him only served to heighten the feeling of protection he felt for her. He would need to warn her about everything that happened here and in the Vale, so she could tell her husband. If possible Nestor would try and avoid war, the kingdom could not afford any more bloodshed.


	29. Queen of Winter/ Wife of FIre

**Sansa**

This winter was supposedly unlike any other winter to have been found in Westeros before. It had started almost five years ago when Sansa had still been a hostage in King’s Landing, and though there had currently been winters that had lasted longer than this one, this winter was said to be the coldest on record. The snows were some seven feet deep outside in some places, and Lord Howland had written that marshes and swamps of the Neck had been completely submerged in snow, making travel hard and supplies of food very hard to come by. And yet Winterfell and the North survived, as it always had, Jon was a great lord, as good as her father had been, making sure that everyone had enough food within Winterfell and the Winter Town to survive, and that if someone needed some more, food was brought in. Though of course with a still growing dragon also in Winterfell sometimes it was hard not to feel as if they would run out of supplies very soon.

She had heard of the destruction that Theon- the Boltons really- had done to Winterfell when she had been held a prisoner in King’s Landing, and yet when she had arrived in Winterfell over two years ago she had returned to find the castle looking just as it had when she had left for the south all those long years ago. Jon and Alys had seen to it that Winterfell was returned to its former glory, with help from the northern lords who were all too happy to see a Stark back and ruling in Winterfell once more, so much so that even some parts of the castle such as the broken tower and the Keep of the First Men that had been ruins for as long as anyone could remember had been rebuilt, though the Keep of the First Men was now a open structure used to hold Jon’s Dragon Rhaegal.

Thinking about Jon still brings a blush to her cheeks. Her betrothed- for that was what he was now- had come back from the war at the Wall scarred and looking more handsome than ever before. Sansa sometimes caught herself wondering how she could have ever thought Joffrey a mere boy beautiful in comparison to Jon. He seemed to have filled out a lot in that last few years, seemingly more mature and more muscled, and even more handsome. When he had returned, he had come back with his brother- it still felt so strange to think that word, let alone say it- King Aegon, the king was pleasant and graceful and very good looking, but for Sansa he had not been nearly as eye catching as Jon had. She and Jon had communicated a lot during the war, sending ravens back and forth so much so that both Alys and Lady Ashara had joked about it, Sansa knew during that time that the feelings that she was developing for Jon could not be right and could not be fulfilled, he was already married and far too honourable to ever set aside Alys for her even if he did love her.

This was why she had seriously considered asking Jon to consent when a raven had come from Highgarden asking for her hand for Lord Willas. So her surprise when instead of immediately accepting which would have made the kingdoms all that more secure, Jon had simply stared at the letter and then stared at her and asked her softly “Is this what you want Sansa?” She had not known how to reply and so she hadn’t, and so it seemed that had been enough for Jon he had merely folded the letter up and handed it back to Maester Arthor, and then got up and walked out of the hall. Sansa had been very confused about Jon’s actions then and Alys had refused to tell her what it meant, and so she had been very surprised when she heard a knock on her door later that night, to find Ghost and Jon both standing in the doorway. Jon had proposed to her then, a simple gesture but one that had set her heart pounding and sent the blood rushing to her ears. She had accepted, but she still worried about why he had proposed to her, and why it felt so normal and not strange or like a betrayal. Alys had simply kissed her cheek and smiled lovingly at her when Jon had announced the news at a feast held a day later, obviously Jon had already told his first wife what he intended on doing.  There were no murmurs either, or if there were Sansa heard none of them, for the people of Winterfell held Jon in some very high regard, considering him the saviour of the realm and the world from the darkness that had threatened to engulf it. It had taken her some strength and nerve to even ask her goodmother- for that was what she was, Jon still referred to Aunt Ashara as his mother- why Jon had asked her to marry him. Lady Ashara still a haunting beauty even now, had simply held Sansa’s hand and said “Because he loves you very, very much Sansa. And he sees no reason not to have your love as well, when he can.”

Their wedding was to take place in two weeks time, and there was so much to prepare for, and as Sansa watched the snowflakes continue to fall onto the ground she wondered whether or not the ceremony would take place in the godswood or the Sept, and though she was not really bothered about where it took place she still wanted Jon to feel comfortable. “You have that dreamy look on your face again Sansa.” Sansa heard her soon to be wife joke. Alys always seemed to be glowing now, since Jon had come back and they had found out she was with child. “Waiting for the day to come and go so that you can have our Jon for yourself eh?” Alys teased.

Sansa blushed slightly, the three of them had engaged in some very illicit activities once their betrothal had been announced, though never verging onto sex, for though Jon was a very passionate person, he was still to honourable to do something like that before it was appropriate. “Well, I can have you now though can’t I Alys?” Sansa said slyly though her cheeks blushed something fierce with her own words.

Alys grinned and moved closer to her, and soon the two of them were lost in a tangle of skirts, hair and limbs. As was always the way, Alys led them, and though Sansa knew that perhaps she should feel guilty or even strange about what they were doing, she found that she just could not give a damn. Jon was a Stark and the Lord of Winterfell but he was also a Targaryen and the Prince of Dragonstone, though Sansa dearly wished that they never had to set foot in King’s Landing again, so he could do whatever it clearly liked, and so to could she and Alys. She loved Alys, truly she did, when she had been in Winterfell before moving south, Sansa had thought Alys to be the sister she had never had, always there to help sew or stitch or even gossip, things that Arya never wanted to do. Though such thoughts often made Sansa feel pangs of guilt after times such as this, where they were both lying in bed, on top of the sheets panting and heated, she could never feel anything but love and joy for the family she now had.

“I must say Sansa, if your anything like you were today during the bedding, Jon will never wish to leave our room. And then we shall be getting complaints from everyone. And we can’t have that now can we?” Alys said laughingly.

Sansa blushed fiercely, but said “Ah but then surely I can keep you here for a while yet Alys.”

She was about to lean over and kiss her future wife when Jon entered the room followed by Ghost, and on Ghosts back Rickard, Jon and Alys’ son. Jon stopped by the foot of their bed, and looked at them both, his eyes hooded for a moment, before they became loving. “Now look who we have here son,” Sansa heard him say to Rickard, who seemed to be the spitting image of Jon with his dark brown curls, and long solemn face and grey eyes. “It’s your mothers. Now why don’t we go and join them.”

Jon growled playfully and lifted Rickard up from Ghost and began tickling him causing the boy to scream with delight. “Yes papa.” Sansa smiled, Rickard was such a delightful little boy, he reminded her somewhat of Bran when he had been that age, and she felt a little pang at the fact that Bran and Rickon were still missing, with no one knowing truly where they were, though Lord Manderly said that there were signs Rickon might be closer than they think.

As Rickard clambered onto the bed, and began playing with Sansa’s hair, something that both he and his father seemed fascinated with, Alys asked Jon something that Sansa too had been wondering. “Will Ser Jorah be coming to the wedding my love?” They had received a raven from the Vale, writ in Lord Baelish’s hand stating that Ser Jorah Mormont was coming to Winterfell to discuss terms for Jon to bend the knee to Danaerys Targaryen who was claiming the throne. Sansa knew how most of the northern lords, especially the Mormonts themselves had reacted at this news, and it had not been favourable.

Jon sighs, and from where she is on the bed, Sansa can see the little lines of frustration showing on his face, and she feels the strong urge to smooth them away with kisses. Instead she has to content herself with his voice. “Yes he will. He will be a guest under our roof, we are not the Freys to insult a guest. Besides he might actually have something interesting to say compared to the so called Queen he serves. And it might do to have a northmen in Danaerys’ camp so we can figure out what is going on with her and Littlefinger.” Jon snarls that last word, and Sansa involuntarily shivers, they all knew what Littlefinger- her mother’s childhood friend- had done to see their father executed and the war between their house and the Lannisters start, Lord Varys had told them it all one day through a raven, and though there was some suspicion, proof had been provided by the servants they had found snooping around Jon’s solar one day, both of whom had been sent north sometime when her mother had still lived, by Littlefinger’s direction.

“How many of the lords will be here?” Sansa asks hating how small her voice sounds. She knows some of the Lords wanted to marry her off to either themselves or to their heirs, Jon’s goodfather for one, wanted to marry her to Harrion Karstark that great bear of a man, who had spent much of the war in the south in Harrenhal. Jon’s betrothal to her and the fact that King’s Landing did not object- for how can they when Jon could easily unseat Aegon if he so chose to- meant that they did not get their wish.

Jon sighs once more, and at that Sansa sees Ghost perk his head up and stare at his master, Rickard clambers over Sansa to fall into Alys’ arms completely unaware of the discussion going on around him. “Lord Karstark will be there of course, Lord Manderly, Lady Jonella Cerwyn, The Tallharts and Galbart Glover and Lady Maege shall be here. As will the Ryswells.” At that Jon grimaces, and Sansa feels her heart drop slightly. The Ryswells had been the one house that had strongly supported the Boltons when they had ruled the north for that brief period, and Sansa knows that neither the north nor Jon have forgiven them for that, or for the fact that Barbery Dustin once made some comment about Robb and Sansa’s father when in her cups, a comment so severe that Jon had merely stared at her and Rhaegal’s roars could be heard for miles around, needless to say that the Ryswells will not be welcome in Winterfell for some time.

“Do they have to come? The Ryswells I mean, they are a bunch of stuffy nosed gits, as is that old cow Barbery Dustin. She’s still bitter over something that happened twenty years ago now and...” Alys says before Jon interrupts her.

“I know, I know. I would rather not have them at the wedding, but it is necessary that we provide a united front especially with that exile Jorah Mormont here, we do not want the man or Danaerys to get the impression we are not united. Besides the Greatjon won’t be here due to the snow and so we won’t have to worry about him smacking Roger Ryswell in the face again.” Jon says, laughing slightly.

It does some to relieve the tension inside of her she supposes, and the two weeks leading to the wedding fly by, preparations are made, the bannermen who agreed to attend arrive with even greater supplies than what they gave when Jon and the men returned at the end of the war with the Others, it’s almost as if winter is not happening. The Umbers arrive a day before Jorah Mormont does, their arrival a surprise and a joy at the same time, they have always been staunchly loyal to Winterfell, and the Greatjon and his heir Dorren are no exception, both large men who lift Jon and Sansa and Alys and little Rickard off their feet when they greet them. The Greatjon booms a response about the snow when asked by Lord Rodrik Ryswell. “Pah as if a little snow could stop me from attending this wedding. We Umbers are not the softies you Ryswells are.”

The day Ser Jorah Mormont steps foot in Winterfell is a tense one. Sansa and Alys work hard to make sure that the Mormonts do not react badly to seeing him though Lady Maege seems uninterested in her nephew and completely ignores him in the great hall during both lunch and dinner. Some of the other lords though, those who were old enough to know of what Mormont had done to be exiled in the first place, and why he fled, grumble and give the man angry looks as he makes his way to the stand in front of the weirwood throne where Jon sits, with Alys and Sansa on his left and right respectively, Ghost sitting on the floor at their feet and Rhaegal the great big bronze dragon’s head peering in through the window.

“Lord Stark, you know why I have come here. I have come to present the terms for your bending the knee to the rightful Queen of Westeros, Danaerys Targaryen.” Jorah Mormont says in a thick accent.

“Aegon Targaryen is the rightful ruler of Westeros slaver!” Dorren Umber shouts.

“What has your queen done for us slaver, does she have you wrapped around her Littlefinger?” someone else shouts.

More insults are thrown at Ser Jorah, and as they continue his face grows redder and redder, as if his anger will soon get the better of him, Sansa turns her head slightly and sees that Jon is merely staring at Ser Jorah intently, as if waiting for him to have an outburst, she looks to Alys and sees that her soon to be wife is glancing at Ser Arthur Dayne, who stands closest to the weirwood throne. His greatsword in its sheath, but his hands lightly holding onto the pommel.

Eventually Jon speaks, and when he does his voice is cold. “Enough. I would hear what these terms are Ser Jorah. Speak true and quick.”

The hall goes silent and Sansa feels herself shiver slightly. Ser Jorah swallows and when he speaks his voice his quiet though still heavily accented. “Her Grace Queen Danaerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, hereby requests that Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell along with his lords bannermen and the wildlings bend the knee and recognise her as the rightful queen of Westeros, and that the boy calling himself Aegon Targaryen is nothing but a pretender. Should this be done, then Her Grace in all her wisdom will allow the Starks to remain as Lord Paramounts of the North, and to keep all their holdings from the neck to where the Wall used to stand. She also requests and end to the betrothal between Lord Stark and the Lady Sansa, on the grounds that such a betrothal will be of no benefit to the north or the rest of Westeros, and that such a betrothal was made without the lady’s consent. She would ask that Lord Stark allow the Lady Sansa freedom to leave Winterfell and return with me to the Gates of the Moon to serve as the Queen’s lady in waiting.”

There is a dreadful silence, and Sansa feels her heart go cold, she does not want to leave Winterfell again, preferably ever, this must be Littlefinger’s work, he must want her for some purpose that she cannot comprehend. Jon stiffens beside her, she can feel the tension in the room, Rhaegal seems to be reflecting the anger his master is keeping hidden, puffs of smoke come from out of his nose. Eventually Jon speaks, and his voice is colder than the ice on the wall he has told her about, she is certain. “I am afraid that I cannot nor will I ever bend the knee to Danaerys Targaryen. She maybe my aunt, but I will never bend the knee to someone who would consort with the evil that is Lord Baelish, or consort with the man who brought about some of the destruction to my homeland. Her terms are not reasonable, the Lady Sansa consented to our betrothal, and it was not forced she was given a choice, she could have refused she did not. I am sorry Ser Jorah but I am afraid that your mission here has been wasted.”

Sansa can see that that was not the answer Ser Jorah wished to hear, and it is reflected in the tone of his voice when he speaks next. “You foolish boy. You have put your desires before those of your people. Her Grace has conquered the free cities with her dragons, and she has the allegiance of the only kingdom not affected by the wars that raged before. She will win the Iron Throne. Lady Sansa do you wish to wed this solemn faced man and stay in the barren wasteland that is the north, or do you wish to live in the south with Lord Willas or with Lord Harrold or any other southern lord who could give you the happiness that you have always desired.”

There is uproar then, the Lords of the North who had been so silent before, now come to life like a pack of wolves hounding an enemy. The Greatjon bellows “Lord Stark a fool, have you forgotten what you did for your lady love Slaver? Your Queen has married a squid and will bring more death and destruction to our lands.”

Rickard Karstark shouts “She is the mad King’s daughter. We have all heard the tales of what happened to her in Essos, her father was mad, her brother was mad, she is the maddest of the lot to work with a man like Victarion Greyjoy!”

Sansa speaks then, and the lords all go silent. She speaks softly but determinedly. “Ser Jorah, I appreciate your concern for me, but truly I am happy with my betrothal to Lord Targaryen. He is the heir to the Iron Throne at present, but that is not what matters, he will keep me safe and happy for the rest of my days I know that, much better than any southerner ever could. So he speaks truly when he says that I will not leave for the Vale, unless it is of my own choosing which at present it is not.”

The northern lords roar their approval and the council comes to an end. The next day they are wed in the godswood, the snow painting a surreal picture for Sansa, something that lasts throughout the day and the bedding where she Jon and Alys all couple together for the first but not the last time. Two days Ser Jorah leaves for the Vale, with a rejection for the promise of the North’s allegiance to his Queen. As she, Alys and Jon sit in Jon’s solar with uncle Benjen and Aunt Ashara and Ser Arthur they discuss various things, whether or not the wall will need to be rebuilt “It will.” Uncle Benjen says, Jon merely asks their uncle to remain in Winterfell for the time being, and when asked why he says “War will come to Westeros again. Aegon and I will need to deal with Littlefinger and Danaerys before they deal with us.” Ominous especially when two moons later Sansa realises she is with child.


	30. Lion Of the West

**Martyn Lannister**

It was cold, that much was for certain. A certain chill seemed to be constantly present at Casterly Rock, ever since winter had arrived on white wings some four years ago. It was only fitting Martyn thought, that this winter should be the coldest one Westeros had experienced, considering the summer that had preceded it had been the longest and the warmest. Still there were certain benefits of this winter, one of them being that when the King had marched north to deal with the threat at the wall, he had instructed Martyn to keep his men poised and ready should the beasts he was dealing with advance further south, as they hadn’t Martyn and his men had been spared the pain of marching through the cold and the snow, and now were nearly back to their strength from before the war, that maesters were calling the war of the kings.

Speaking of kings, Martyn found his thoughts wandering as they so often did these days to the raven that had come from King’s Landing some time ago, announcing that Jon Stark, now Jon Targaryen the Lord of Winterfell had been confirmed as Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, until a son was born to the king. This news had caused Martyn many restless nights unable to sleep as he worried over what would happen to his family should Jon Stark become king. After all it had been Martyn’s cousins and their foolish actions that had started the war in Westeros, and their actions that had cost Lord Stark most of his family, Martyn had met Lord Stark once, when he had gone to King’s Landing to discuss some business with the king, and the man had been just as cold and as fierce as the stories of the northern lords Martyn had heard as a child painted him to be. Martyn feared that should Stark take the throne there would be some sort of retribution for the acts his family had done, and that was something he dreaded mightily. For whilst the Westerlands and the Reach were tied together through Martyn’s marriage to Margaery, Stark had become something of a war hero, and held the north and the Riverlands and more than likely the Stormlands as well, if the man became king and took it into his head to see off the Lannisters, then there would be nothing Martyn could do.

There was of course yet another thing about Lord Targaryen that surprised Martyn and even Margaery- his wife who always seemed so sure of herself that nothing could baffle her- when the raven had arrived announcing Lord Jon’s wedding to his cousin Sansa Stark there had been much whispering in the Westerlands, in Casterly Rock especially. For it was common knowledge that during the last few months of Tommem’s reign on the Iron Throne, Margaery’s brother Willas had spent some time in Dorne with the Lady Sansa at Starfall getting to know her, and wooing her, for as Margaery had told him when news of Lord Jon’s betrothal came through, her grandmother had wanted to keep one hand in the Stark camp should King Aegon appear less forgiving to Lord Jon who had at the time been for Stannis Baratheon. And from what Margaery had told him, Martyn had gotten the impression that though the betrothal between her brother and Lady Sansa was not official, had not been sealed in writing, it was as good as official, as according to Margaery and some of the spies Lady Olenna had, both parties were quite smitten with each other. And so as a result both Martyn and Margaery spent many an hour discussing both Lord Jon’s ascension as heir to the throne and his betrothal to the Lady Sansa and what it could actually mean. “He must be doing it to protect the north. After all his family was scattered by the south and the nest of vipers that is King’s Landing. He must not want his family to be torn apart anymore.” Martyn had said upon hearing the news, feeling a twinge of guilt, for it had been his family that had caused the destruction to fall on the Starks.

“Yes but even so, an alliance with my father would have benefitted the Starks, as it would have meant that there would be more common ties between the north, the south and the west. Still it might have been wiser for him to marry Sansa off to a northern lord loyal to him, so as to ensure they stayed loyal.” Margaery had said.

“Aye but this a Stark we are talking of, they do not often seem to have much common political sense my love. That is what my father always said, and what Lord Tywin always said. Perhaps he simply did it because he loved her.” Martyn had replied then.

His wife had laughed then, and cupping his cheek lovingly, she had said. “Oh Martyn my love, you are smart and brave, but still naive. Lord Jon is heir to the Iron Throne now, even if he does not know, his brother and his adopted mother will know just how important it is that he has a wife who understands the south and how it works. And though she was just a girl when she was in King’s Landing, Sansa has a better understanding of southern politics than anyone thinks she does. If Lord Jon becomes king, Sansa will be his southern queen and there is nothing we will be able to do.”

At her words Martyn had felt an old panic spring up in his chest. “And that does not bother you? I know you were wed thrice to kings, do you not wish to be queen once more?”

Margaery had kissed him on the lips then and said soothingly. “I was wed to three kings aye. But none of them were as kind or as brave as you. I do not want to be queen Martyn, for with you and our children I am as queenly as can possibly be, without needing some lofty title or some foolish crown to go with it.”

Martyn had merely nodded then and they had spoken no more of Kings or betrothals or what ifs. Until yet another raven had come from the Vale, written in the neat and precise hand of one Lord Petyr Baelish, the Lord Protector of the Vale, declaring the arrival of Danaerys Targaryen the rightful Queen of Westeros, and demanding that Martyn come to the Vale to bend the knee to her. Stories had already been reaching Martyn of Daenaerys Targaryen, some of them claimed she was her brother Prince Rhaegar come again spreading justice and peace like the Prince would have done had he ascended the throne, others claimed she was as mad as her father the mad king, and that she had brought nothing but death and grief to the lands she had ruled in Essos. One thing the rumours all did agree on though was that she had two of the four last living dragons in the world, and one of them was said to be as black as night and the Black Dread come again.

Martyn did not reply to the letter, giving neither confirmation or denial of what Lord Baelish had written, as advised by both his wife and his aunt. Instead he waited for news from King’s Landing, from his cousin Daven who was serving as master of coin. He wished to know what the King’s reaction would be to the news of his aunt’s arrival and her declaration. He already knew about Baelish, a letter from Varys had explained all. The treacherous weasel that was Petyr Baelish had played off on the long standing tensions between Lord Eddard Stark and Martyn’s uncle Lord Tywin and had used Jaime and Cersei’s foolishness to ignite the war that had torn Westeros apart for two years. The man had also whispered in Martyn’s cousin Joffrey’s ear about having Eddard Stark executed, and that in itself had made Martyn furious. The man’s blind ambition had cost Westeros whatever semblance of peace it could hope to have as well as costing Martyn his father, his brothers and friends and other family of his, his own mother had died two moons ago from a fever, leaving Martyn an orphan having to care not only for his own two children- Martha and Loren- but also his baby sister Janei who would have no memory whatsoever of their family when she grew up, it was enough to make Martyn truly wish Baelish was here right now so he could kill the man.

Four moons past from the raven from the Vale when another raven came from Riverrun, Martyn and Lord Edmure had picked up a sort of unlikely friendship, borne of a desire to rid the world of Freys and loathing of what Jaime and Cersei had done to the kingdoms with their stupidity. The letter contained details of how Nestor Royce had come to Riverrun to try and get Edmure to bend the knee to Danaerys and how Edmure had refused, and now Edmure wrote of how there were bandits raiding his lands, most likely in the pay of Littlefinger, but of how any attempts made to catch them often ended up turning empty as they would not be found. The letter also spoke of the madness of Daenaerys Targaryen’s proposals, and after reading that Martyn had to call a meeting with his advisors, Margaery, Aunt Genna and Maester Creylen. Martyn stated the contents of what Daenaerys Targaryen had offered Edmure, and then said “It seems clear to me that the woman has no clear understanding of what is wanted in Westeros. It seems Lord Baelish has been filling her head with nonsense.”

Aunt Genna spoke next. “Aye your father and Tywin did always say that Baelish though capable, was a snake and a dreamer. Some of what he says will be told with a pinch of salt, to sweeten the girl to what it he wants her to do. I say we ignore whatever attempts she makes at getting us to bend the knee.”

Maester Creylen ever the voice of reason said. “It is likely that Lord Baelish is withholding the truth from Daenaerys Targaryen about her father and her brother, and what the Lords of Westeros truly thought of her family before the rebellion.”

Martyn looked at the wizened old maester who had been serving at the Rock since his father had been a young man and asked him. “And what was the view of House Targaryen before the rebellion Maester?”

It was his aunt Genna true to the point as ever who answered. “Aerys was mad all knew that. Tywin was the only person who could reign in his madness, though Aerys began to think Tywin was plotting to overthrow him, that he was going to have Rhaegar installed as king. That blasted Tourney at Harrenhal did nothing to help relations between the two of them. Tywin was always to proud for his own good, he wanted some sort of recognition for all the years of hard work he had done for Aerys, and Rhaegar was willing to give it to him. Rhaegar, the silver prince, the one who everyone thought would bring House Targaryen back from the abyss and to greatness once again. It was a shame we were all so wrong.”

Martyn looked at his aunt then and said. “Is that why the Westerlands did not fight during the rebellion and merely took part in that atrocity known as the Sack?”

His voice had turned harsh, it must have done for he felt Margaery gripping his hand tightly, and he had seen the slight flinch that had crossed his aunt’s face at his words. Still her voice was strong when she spoke. “Aye that is why my lord. Tywin would have supported Rhaegar had he attempted to call a Great Council, but once he absconded with Lyanna Stark, Tywin knew that there was barely any chance Rhaegar would have any credibility if he emerged from the rebellion unharmed. And so he waited and when news came from the Trident he marched, and the sack happened.”

Martyn felt Margaery gripping his hand tighter then, and he realised he was shaking. His uncle had always been something of a hero to him growing up, he had heard the stories from his father of how Uncle Tywin had raised their house back to greatness once more. But now to hear that his uncle was nothing more than a brutal killer, it shocked him. “And so with one foul act, desperate to please the new fat oaf we had for a king uncle Tywin killed Princess Rhaenys and had us all believe he killed Prince Aegon, and then he did not kill Gregor Clegane and Armory Lorch when he had the chance. And so our house’s reputation was forever ruined, the thing he had worked so hard to improve. Ruined because of some grudge he had against Aerys.”

He heard his aunt sigh then and she sounded sad when she said “Aye, but it is not different to what you are doing with Jaime and his woman now, keeping them in the cells of the Rock.”

Martyn felt his heart drop then and he felt himself go cold at his aunt’s words. Jaime Lannister, his cousin, his hero, the betrayer of the family, was sat in the dungeons of Casterly Rock awaiting Martyn’s decision on whether or not to give him to the crown for justice or not. Margaery was gripping his hand even tighter now, and he was reassured she was still there with him, that she still loved him even though he had done some horrible things to his cousin and Brienne of Tarth. His voice was cold, when he spoke. “Ser Jaime is an oathbreaker and a liar, who brought war upon Westeros because he could not keep his cock in his pants. And because of that the lives of thousands of people are on his shoulders. He broke his oath to Catelyn Stark to find her daughters and to not harm anymore of her blood. He was off gallivanting round the Riverlands with that woman instead of finding what he had set out to find. By all accounts he should be dead, hung like the traitor he is.”

His Aunt Genna sighed once more and said “And yet you keep him and his woman alive. Injured yes but alive. And why is that if not to make sure that no more Lannisters die during this war, to Targaryen madness. You are more like Tywin than you think Martyn. Release Jaime but do not allow him to leave the Rock and tell the King that Jaime will never be a threat to him, and you will be free. Aegon owes you his crown.”

Martyn was silent for a long moment, and was about to speak when Margaery said. “Perhaps there is a way for Ser Jaime to remain here but without anyone outside the Rock knowing he is here.” Martyn looked at his wife, and then she went on. “Only myself, Martyn, and yourselves know that Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne are here. If we were to tell them truthfully that Lady Sansa is safe in Winterfell and that Lady Stoneheart has died her final death there would be no need for us to tell them anymore, simply that their oaths had been fulfilled and that they should stay here for their own safety. Would Ser Jaime agree to that?”

Aunt Genna nodded. “Aye Jaime would, he would never wish to do anything that would go against you Martyn, he does not even want the Rock. But it is that woman of his that will be the problem, she will insist on going to Winterfell to see for herself.”

There was silence and then Maester Creylen spoke up. “Could we not simply show her the letters that came from King’s Landing and from Winterfell, showing her the proof of what Lord Martyn says?”

Martyn remained silent and Margaery said “No, she will not believe us. She thinks we are all liars, as Aunt Genna said. Only seeing Sansa with her own eyes will make her believe, and we cannot afford to let her go, not with two Targaryens in Westeros.”

Martyn finally spoke. “Then she will never leave the dungeons. And if Jaime does not like that, then he can go and join her.”


	31. Waking the Dragon

**Daenaerys**

Sometimes Dany dreamed of King’s Landing and the Iron Throne, the seat of her family’s power for centuries before the war of the Usurper. She often wondered what the place looked like, if it truly was as grand as Viserys had told her it had been, she never knew whether to believe Viserys nowadays, convinced as she was that he had been quite mad towards the end of his life, and yet she often found herself doubting Ser Barristan’s description of the Red Keep as well, her old white knight had been loyal to a fault and that might have often led to him embellishing the truth a little bit. One thing she was not unsure about though was that it was her and not the pretender Aegon Targaryen or even the bastard Lord Stark who should be seated on the Iron Throne. She was her brother Rhaegar, and her father’s true heir, not some bastard from the northern whore who had taken Rhaegar from his wife and family, nor the boy pretending to be her nephew. And she would have her throne, through fire and blood.

There had been times as she had waited for both Ser Jorah and Lord Nestor to return from their respective missions that she had simply wished to mount Drogon and fly off for King’s Landing and challenge the pretender there and then, and see whom would come up on top and whether or not the fool boy actually had a dragon. Lord Baelish had of course persuaded her against doing such a thing, arguing that the time was not prudent especially with her being so heavily pregnant, and that it would be better if she waited until Lord Royce and Ser Jorah had returned before making a move. That had been some time ago though, and now a year had passed and she had given birth to a little boy who looked exactly like her, she had named him Aenar after her ancestor who had brought her family to Dragonstone, and her husband Victarion had been very proud of the boy, stating that he would be warrior when he grew up.

Her son, the actual thought that she had a son now still caught her by surprise sometimes. After everything that had happened with Drogo and Rhaego and the maegi’s prophecy Daenaerys had soon given up hope of ever truly being able to have children again, but then she had discovered she was with child soon after her and Victarion’s wedding and that had given her cause for hope, perhaps this time one of the prophecies she had heard would be proven incorrect and she could live her life fully and happily. Things between her husband and herself had improved dramatically since the birth of their son, she had come to feel more than just fondness for Victarion, and she liked to believe that her husband felt the same for her as well. It was still hard for her to decipher his emotions sometimes, as he often wore a mask whenever he was with her in public and still sometimes wore that mask when they were alone together, and she knew he preferred being out on the sea than cooped up in the Gates of the Moon and the waiting was getting to him. He was very happy to have a son, that much she knew, and if his niece Asha Greyjoy was dead then their son or anymore children they had would become the Lord or Lady of the Iron Islands as well, should they be triumphant.

Her thoughts then turned to the news and the council meeting that they had held earlier that day. It had not been a good meeting, there had been much disappointment and shouting, as the envoys had returned tired and broken, the snow in Westeros clearly showing that winter was still firmly present. Nestor Royce had been the first one to speak, and Daenaerys had been most disappointed with what the man had said. “Lord Edmure will not bending the knee Your Grace. He refuses to acknowledge you as anything more than a princess, and refused outright to have his niece brought back to the Riverlands.” Nestor Royce had said.

Daenaerys had remained silent for a long time before saying. “Then he shall burn.” She had seen the fear in Nestor Royce’s eyes at her words, but she had long stopped caring about what others thought of her or any potential madness she might have, she was blood of the dragon, she was the dragon and she would act like it. She had then turned to Lord Baelish and said “Your position as Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord of Harrenhal remains, as does your protectorship of the Vale. You still have people in Winterfell?”

Baelish had replied in the affirmative. “Aye Your Grace I do. Do you wish for me to get in contact with them?”

Daenaerys had nodded and said “Tell them the time has come. Lady Sansa shall come to the Vale whether she wishes it or not.”

Ser Jorah had spoken then and his voice had sounded old and weary. “I do not think that would be such a wise idea Your Grace.”

Dany had looked at her bear then a questioning look on her face, and Ser Jorah had gone onto say. “Lord Jon Targaryen married Lady Sansa whilst I was in Winterfell, and as such their marriage has been consummated, and she is with child, more than likely she will have given birth to the child by now. Taking the Lady Sansa will only serve to antagonize Stark further against you as well as the north rather than work to bring him onside.”

“What do you suggest I do then Ser Jorah? Allow the man and his wives live? That will only make me look weak and feeble.” Dany had replied.

It had been Lord Baelish who had replied then. “My sources in Winterfell report that Stark’s wife Lady Alys and his son by her Rickard, are often found to be by themselves much of the time, since dealing with the Boltons Lord Stark has become complacent in the safety of his family, believing that there are no more threats to them. If you were to deal a hefty blow to either the Lady Alys or the brat, and make it look like the fault lay with Lord Stark or maybe even the Lady Sansa, then it is possible that Lord Karstark and others with him would side with Your Grace, thus keeping Stark occupied when the war breaks out in the south.”

Dany saw the merit in what her hand had said but her husband had voiced his opinion then. “And how would you propose we get to the woman or the boy Baelish? Surely Stark will be suspecting such a thing, such a ploy?”

Baelish had smiled enigmatically. “Not if the person to do the deed was someone his wife had come to trust with dealing with herself or her son. Someone who they had known before but had changed her identity to remain hidden. A certain Cat of the Canals.”

Dany had smiled then at the man’s suggestion. Cat, the girl was younger than her but much trained in the arts of assassination, she had come with Dany when they had been docked in Lys, seeking a passage and a way to bring revenge for those who had betrayed her family, and as a person sent to assist Dany in taking what was rightfully hers by the Faceless Men of Bravos. Cat had proved her skills in Lys when she had killed three grown men who had been sent to kill her, her skill with a blade being better than even Ser Jorah’s, her footwork quick and her action lethal. Yes Dany thought, Cat would be the perfect person to do the deed. “Send word to your man in Barrowtown, tell him to tell her that the time has come. Revenge shall be hers.” Lord Baelish nodded and so that was that.

Dany found her thoughts drifting once more, this time to Quaithe the mysterious woman who had found her at the strangest of moments over the past seven years. She had not seen the woman since Meeren, and even then her messages had been cryptic and confusing, “Trust not the lion and beware the Pale Griffin.” She had not met a Lannister yet, Martyn Lannister was said to be staunchly loyal to the pretender Aegon, and as such there had been no point trying to send an envoy to him, besides it had been the Lannisters who had ordered the deaths of her niece, nephew and goodsister in the first place, she would rather see them burn than treat with them, an ideal that Lord Baelish and her husband both seemed to share. She had been surprised that both men had deemed sending someone to the Reach was not a worthwhile consideration, seeing as the Reach had stayed loyal to her father throughout the War of the Usurper, Ser Jorah had snorted at that and told her “It was the Queen of Thorns who made sure that the Reach did nothing more than lay siege to Storm’s End not Mace Tyrell, and the woman will not wish to see you on the throne Your Grace, not with her whore of a granddaughter wed to Martyn Lannister.” Quaithe warnings had never mentioned a flower, the symbol of House Tyrell; still Lord Baelish insisted he had friends in the Reach who would come to her aid once war finally did break out.

Quaithe, the woman was still a strange idea to Dany; she knew not where the woman came from or where she disappeared of to when she was done giving her cryptic messages. And she often wondered if she was not just imagining the woman’s presence, perhaps a sign that she was finally going mad, just like her father the mad King? Except she still believed her father, had some sort of justification for being paranoid, the Lannister dog he had as his hand had kept him holed up in Duskendale for close to a year instead of instantly breaking him free like any good man would. Perhaps Tywin Lannister truly had always wanted her father dead, as well as her brother and goodsister. She knew not, all she knew was that it was surprising that Quaithe had warned her of false dragons and red priests, only for her to find Melisandre as well the red woman whom was locked away somewhere, waiting to be fed to Drogon. Quaithe, she needs to know who the woman was and where she came from.

A knock on the door disturbs her thoughts calling for whoever it is to come in she finds herself looking at Lord Baelish, he looks triumphant but also slightly worried as he sits down. “What is the matter Lord Baelish?” she asks.

“News from the Riverlands, the Riverlords led by House Goodbrook have written to inform me that they will stand by you and fight for you when the war starts and Lord Edmure is visiting Lord Goodbrook soon enough. The man has walked right into a trap.” Baelish replied.

Dany smiled. “Still it is not enough, we must draw the pretender away from King’s Landing in order for my husband to take the city. Any news from Winterfell?”

Baelish shook his head. “Not yet, but Cat will get the job done, she has never failed you so far Your Grace.”

“That is true, the question is how do we get the pretender away from King’s Landing, or to actually start the conflict himself?” Dany asked.

At this Lord Baelish smiled, the same smile that sometimes gave Dany the creeps, but also intrigued her, Lord Baelish was an intriguing character, smart as well. “Well I still have many friends in King’s Landing. With the right words, I could sow discord in King’s Landing between the pretender and his council, or perhaps between the King and his hand.”

Dany was intrigued. “How so?”

“Have you never found it passing odd that Lord Varys forever sought to work for you, and yet whilst you and your brother wandered around Essos, he kept this boy so conveniently called Aegon hidden away on some boat with a man who had as good as loved his father? My sources have told me that Aegon wishes to meet you and that he has constantly questioned Connington and Varys about his time growing up. If we can plant the seed of doubt in his mind, he will act rashly and his wife and daughter will be in danger, and then it will be he who starts the war, not you.”

Dany pondered this for a long moment and was about to reply when the door opened and her husband walked in clutching a letter. A grim look on his face. “Word from Winterfell, the attempt failed. Lord Stark has called his banners, war has started.”


	32. Got Me Wrong

**Edmure**

Edmure looked at the huge pile of letters that had gathered on his table as of late, and ran a hand through his mop of auburn curls and sighed deeply. Since Nestor Royce and Lyn Corbray had come to Riverrun all those moons ago, the ravens from his bannermen curious as to whether or not Edmure would bend the knee to Daenaerys had been endless. It was the raven from Lord Jonos Bracken that had eventually forced Edmure to call his lords to Riverrun and inform them rather sternly that he had no intention whatsoever of bowing to Daenaerys Targaryen, be she the daughter of Aerys Targaryen or his only true surviving heir. He had pledged himself to Aegon Targaryen when he had bent the knee to him in King’s Landing, and he fully intended to keep to his pledge. Most of his lords had been happy with what he had said then, and the issue had largely been left to lie, though Lords Goodbrook, Mooton, Smallwood and Ryger continued to persist in asking him whether or not he truly wished to bend the knee to Aegon and it was beginning to anger him deeply.

He was only grateful that Walder Frey and his brood were no longer present to trouble him overtly. Ever since his wedding to Rosilin he had been having nightmares about seeing Cat’s body, and sometime he still woke up sweating and angered determined to drive a sword through the nearest Frey he found, only to discover that there were none left to kill, the males atleast. The males of House Frey had all been killed when Edmure’s niece’s husband Jon Targaryen had marched south and decimated the Twins, Mors Umber had wed one of Lord Walder’s many brood, and gotten her with child almost immediately. The female Freys were either wedded off or joined the Silent Sisters, though there were rumours that Walder Rivers that treacherous oaf who had dared insult Cat had escaped the slaughter, Edmure knew not whether that was true, he certainly hoped not. Still with Mors Umber in control of the Crossing and sworn to Riverrun, Edmure knew he had a man who was determined to follow through on oaths sworn to his liege Lord and to the crown, after all the man was a northman, and they took their oaths seriously beyond a doubt.

Then there was that letter from his sister, Lysa, gods he had not seen her in so long. When Cat had still been alive there had never been a moment where they could all sit down, Edmure, Cat and uncle Brynden to actually discuss their family. Lysa had refused to send aid to their cause during the War of the Five Kings, and yet now that she was wed to that snake Littlefinger, she was demanding that he honour their ties as family and send his men to fight for a woman who was undoubtedly cruel and mad. He could not understand how Lysa could still not see the poison that Petyr Baelish was, how had he managed to worm his way into her heart and her bed. He feared for his sister and for his nephew, little Robert Arryn who had been named for the late Robert Baratheon, but was supposedly nothing like his namesake, he had heard both Cat and uncle Brynden say that Little Robert was being buried under Lysa’s fear and paranoia. And now he would most likely die, as Littlefinger sought complete control over the Vale. Did Lysa know what the man she proclaimed to love truly was he wondered? Had any of them truly known what sort of man he was, or would turn out to be when they had all been children? Perhaps there had been signs of it during that foolish duel he had with Brandon Stark, or the way he always looked at Cat, but they had all been too blind to see it and now they were suffering for it.

Send aid to the Vale, perhaps he could do that. Under the guise of helping Daenaerys Targaryen, when in fact he would be trying to free his sister and nephew of Littlefinger- Edmure had given the man that name once, and not for the reason his sisters thought it was- that could be one possible course of action. Send men to the Bloody Gate professing loyalty to Daenaerys Targaryen and Littlefinger would let him in, that would be his undoing, Edmure had seen parts of Littlefinger when they were children that neither Cat or Lysa had dared see, the parts that were both insecure and proud, and arrogant, that was one thing Littlefinger had always been, and it would be his downfall Edmure was certain of it. He looked at the letter from his sister once more and then calling for Maester Vyman who was stood behind him silent as ever he said. “Send a raven to the Bloody Gate, tell them to expect me and 200 men in roughly a moon’s time.” Maester Vyman said and Edmure watched as the old maester tottered off to the rookery. He sighed once more, hoping he was doing the right thing.

Later that day he walked over to the nursery where he found his wife and two daughters playing happily. He smiled at the sight, though he still felt a pang of regret that the child he had had with Roslin had not survived it’s birth, dying within the womb itself. Still he shook his head and watched his two daughters- Bethany and Catelyn- play with their mother, Bethany the absolute reflection of Edmure with her auburn hair and blue eyes, whilst Catelyn looked exactly like Alysanne with her flowing brown hair and hazel eyes. Edmure loved them all deeply, and he feared losing them more than anything. Alysanne and his relationship had started off as a more sort of mutual attempt to bond and rebuild Riverrun and through that had come the love and affection they know felt for each other. As if sensing that he was looking at them, Catelyn looked up and beamed when she saw him. “PAPA” She screamed happily, before running and throwing herself into his arms. Edmure laughed slightly, and kissed her forehead.

“Are you being good girls for mama?” Edmure asked, noting with a frown as Alysanne struggled to stand up, she was heavily pregnant his wife, and he did not want for her to over exert herself too much.

“Of course Papa!” Cat replied beaming. “We’ve been playing games waitng for you to finish reading your boring letters.”

Edmure laughed then, his daughter truly did remind him of his sister sometimes. “Well I’m here now so show me what you’ve learnt with Maester Vyman then.” Edmure put his daughter down and then sat down next to his wife, and watched and listened as his daughters began reciting all they had learnt from the maester so far and then he played with them for a bit, Come into my castle seemingly the favourite game of theirs just now. It was all peaceful and for a moment Edmure thought it was almost as if the threat of war was not there, as if they could live a comfortable life without ever having to worry about death or more destruction. He was determined that his children and his wife would never have to go through the horrors he had had to go through.

As if she could sense some of what he was thinking, Alysanne squeezed his hand and then whispered in his ear. “It’s okay Ed, we’re all okay here. We always will be.” Edmure said nothing and merely nodded, wondering if the raven he had had Vyman send out to the Bloody Gate had been such a good idea after all.

As he watched his children play and held his wife’s hand he found his thoughts drifting back to the time when he had found Cat, or what had been left of her. An undead monster that was what his sister had become as a result of his wedding to Roslin, a creature so hell bent on revenge that she felt nothing but that, no empathy, no sorrow nothing but hate, a complete contrast from the woman who had been his sister, who had been a mother to kings. He did not recognise her, and even though the band of warriors she was the head of had claimed she was doing him a favour by having the Freys they found executed, he had had to put a stop to it. He’d freed the Kingslayer and that giant of a woman who had always been hanging around Cat, and he’d told the men of the Brotherhood, they had two choices death or they could join the Night’s Watch, though they had done the whole realm a favour, their crimes were beginning to escalate and as Lord Paramount of the Trident he could not allow such crimes to go unpunished. His sister, or what was left of his sister, had then throatily said that if she was to die, he had to be the one to do the deed. And so with the sword, Oathkeeper he believed it was called, Edmure had swung the sword, his tears falling and being the thing that ended his sister’s torturous life on this world. The sight of her head rolling around in the ground afterwards still haunted him, he was a kinslayer, but he wasn’t he knew not, he had told no one of what he had seen, only his uncle Ser Brynden had seen the Brotherhood and Cat, and he had sworn never to tell a soul....

He was taken out of his thoughts by a knock on the door, and seeing Maester Vyman standing in the doorway a letter in his hand his expression worried. Edmure began to worry then, and sticking his hand out for the letter he opened it and began to read and felt his heart drop and anger begin to pool in his stomach. Littlefinger and Daenaerys had gone to far this time, sending an assassin after his niece and her unborn child. He would need to teach them a lesson now, no one did this, no sane monarch did this. Looking at his wife briefly he handed her the letter and waited for her to read before turning to Maester Vyman and saying. “Call the banners Maester Vyman, it is time this dragon learnt what it means to be taught a lesson.”

Due to the snow and the wind and the storms, it took his bannermen some three weeks to answer his call to arms. Mors Umber came down from the Twins hungry for action bringing with him some 3,000 men, Lord Tytos Blackwood every loyal came down with some 2,000 men, Lord Jonos Bracken a man desperate to prove his loyalty after bending the knee to the Lannisters came with the biggest contingent of men 4,000, Lords Mallister and Piper came with 1,000 men each. With some 1,000 men coming from near Riverrun the Riverlands army numbered some 12,000 men and with Lord Targaryen marching south with his own army of northmen, Edmure was confident that they would be able to take the Bloody Gate or at least defeat whatever army was sent from the Vale. There was only one problem though, Lords Goodbrook, Mooton, Smallwood, Ryger and Shawney had banded together to fight for Daenaerys their host numbered some 10,000 men with Lord Lyman Goodbrook having fought in the War of the Five Kings commanding them. The rebel army was marching up the Red Fork towards Riverrun and Edmure knew that he needed to deal with them first before he could turn his attention to the Vale.

It seemed that for once his lords were in agreement with his thoughts, and so they discussed the best ways to deal with this host. “We must attack them as one great force, Lord Lyman is still young and over confident, he will wish to show his true colours to Daenaerys Targaryen. That could work in our favour.” Lord Bracken said.

Lord Blackwood of course snorted at that. “Of course you would say that Jonos, you fought alongside the man when he laid siege to my castle. No my lords I say we split the host into two and attack him from the sides, that way their host will be scattered.”

Lord Mallister concurred. “Aye that is the reasonable idea, Lord Goodbrook experience though he is, is still proud and arrogant we can play on that.”

Lord Clement Piper spoke next. “I suggest we wait for Lord Targaryen to come down from the Neck before we advance from here my lords. Lord Targaryen has a dragon, one of four in existence, what are we to do if the Lords of the Vale should descend from their mountains and attack us along with the rebels? What are we to do if Daenaerys Targaryen comes upon her mount? We will burn.”

There is uproar at that, and soon enough Edmure can hear Mors Umber bellowing. “We won’t sit here and wait and die Piper. If we sit here, they will come up the Red Fork, and their numbers will swell for they will think that we are cravens for not wanting to fight them. And then what? The Young Wolf won all of his battles without dragons, we can do the same.” There is a hearty cheer of approval there but none of them mention that the Young Wolf is dead, and rotting in the ground.

Instead it is decided that there will be two hosts, one commanded by Lord Mallister will take the east bank of the Fork, Edmure will command the second host on the west bank. That decided they begin to prepare for leaving the castle and Edmure says farewell to his wife and children swearing to return to them, and meet this third child who is due any day now. He mounts up on his horse dressed in black as night armour, his sword sheathed on his back, his wife’s favour tied to his arm, and then he nods once to Alysanne and then he rides out with his men through the gates of Riverrun and towards the war that is coming.


	33. Ours Is The Fury

**Mya Connington**

Mya Connington formally Mya Stone, Lady of Storm’s End and wife to Lord Jon Connington the Lord of Storm’s End and Hand of the King, sat in her husband’s solar going over the various accounts of the castle whilst she heard the waves of Shipbreaker’s Bay lapping against the rocks from which her castle was situated on. Sometimes she still had trouble fully believing that she, a mere bastard girl from the Vale was now Lady of Storm’s End and had a claim to the Iron Throne to boot, when Nestor Royce had told her the truth of her parentage, that she was the eldest born child of the late King Robert Baratheon, Mya had been stunned. She had not known what to really believe, for so long she had believed that her father had simply died or left her mother and herself, and that he had never truly cared for either of them. A thought that had  never truly sat well with the memories she had, of a big strong man with black hair throwing her up into the air and making her giggle.

She knew that was why her husband had chosen to marry her, the King had named him Lord of Storm’s End and he needed a proper claim from the Baratheon line to make sure that his lordship sat more comfortably with their bannermen. So he had had the King legitimise her as a Baratheon, and suddenly she had found herself Lady of her father’s ancestral castle, and learning all it meant to be a lady of a great house. Though she had been Lady of Storm’s End for five years now, there were times when she found the work of being a Lady so unbearingly frustrating and boring. She did not mind looking over the books and the accounts for that was something she and Randa had often done when Randa’s father had been to busy to look at them, especially after Randa’s mother had died. No it was the having to plan feasts and deal with the airhead ladies of her husband’s bannermen that frustrated her, as well as the constraints that often came with such things. No longer was she free to roam around the castle and do as she pleased, nor was she free to voice her own thoughts properly, if she was she knew she would have insulted many of her husband’s bannermen for being the simpering ninnies that they truly were.

It was only when her husband was back from the capital or when she was with her children that Mya felt she could truly be herself. Though there was roughly twenty years difference between herself and her husband Mya felt that there was now much that they could see eye to eye on, which had not been the case when they had first been wed, and she had been in King’s Landing for some time. Her husband had thought her too much like Robert Baratheon, far too headstrong and stubborn for her own good, and she had thought he was too serious and boring by half, nothing like Michael Redfort. After Nestor had been born though, something had changed between them, they had reached more of an understanding, as they worked together to ensure that their son was brought up not to be as proud and boastful as other lordlings were brought up to be, but that he was a child with common sense and some smartness. The love she now felt for her husband had started becoming apparent when she had been pregnant with their daughter Cassana, there was something overtly attractive in her lord husband when she was with child, he was she had found not as serious or as gruff when he was around her or their children, and he smiled much more easily, and she had found that she quite liked him, in fact she was certain that was she felt for Jon Connington was much more pure than what she had ever thought of Michael Redfort.

Their children were the jewels of their lives and of the castle, Nestor at four was the very image of Jon, with his fiery auburn hair and serious personality even at his young age. She had voiced some concern over Nestor’s seriousness, but any fears she might have had about Nestor had been laid to rest when Jon had told her, that as a child he too had been very serious. Nestor though seemed much more easier to smile than his father, a bundle of joy when the mood struck him, he often caused havoc amongst the servants of the castle, and Mya was not one to really curtail her son’s rowdiness, not seeing the need for a Septa to be there to help her, seeing as she had largely raised herself along with Randa and Albar, she spend most of her time when she was not looking over the accounts making sure Nestor did not get into too much trouble. Cassana, at two already had the makings of the perfect little lady, she was polite where Nestor was serious or brash, she was sweet where Nestor could be a terror, and her hair was as raven black as Mya’s. Jon had once joked “She will be a true Baratheon our daughter.” And for a brief moment Mya had not truly understood why her husband would say such a thing, but then one of their bannermen’s little girls had thought to take away Cassana’s favourite toys away from her, and their daughter had unleashed hell on the girl who was slightly older than her, leaving the girl crying and Mya and Jon fighting hard not to laugh.

Shaking her head slightly, Mya looked over the letters that were on the table in front of her and sighed slightly. Jon had sent word from King’s Landing, apparently tensions within the kingdoms were beginning to show. Daenaerys Targaryen who was claiming the Iron Throne for her own had sent envoys both to Riverrun and to Winterfell hoping to sway them both to her side. Nestor’s namesake, Nestor Royce had gone to Riverrun and as Mya had expected he had deliberately done a bad job of persuading Lord Edmure to join the princesses side, Mya knew from experience just how persuasive Lord Nestor could be if truly wanted you do something. Jorah Mormont the exile had been sent to Winterfell, and according to Jon the man had been received even less well than they had even thought possible. To compound matters it seemed that Daenaerys had not taken the rejection well and had sent an assassin after Lord Targaryen’s wife and unborn child, something that had deeply shocked Mya and made her angry on Lord Targaryen’s behalf and made her make sure Nestor and Cassana were always protected. Jon wrote that Lord Targaryen had been deeply angered by his aunt’s moves, and as such had called his banners and was marching south, there was fighting in the Riverlands, as the Riverlords were torn between Aegon and Daenaerys. Jon himself had written that he would be coming back from King’s Landing soon enough to call the banners to deal with any potential threat from the Reach.

King’s Landing, a city of vipers and other such foul treacherous beasts. Her husband she knew despised the city and yet he would work there until he could work no more for he had helped King Aegon to take the city, and as such saw the king as the son he had not allowed himself to have before Nestor was born. There were times when Mya felt very down with the world, when Nestor’s antics got too much for her, or she could not stand just how ladylike her daughter was turning out to be, when she would angrily think that her husband preferred his adopted son to his own children. Such thoughts never lasted long though, Jon often wrote to them and always enquired of her and the children’s health when he wrote. He also wrote of the politics of the court, which she knew he despised. Of the King, though Mya was not entirely sure what she felt. She knew that he was a handsome and kind man, who had the potential to be a great king, but there were times when she thought him a mere child. He had lived much of his life on a boat, the conquering of the Iron Throne had inflated his ego, as it would for any young man, but there was a sense Mya got that perhaps his confidence would be his undoing, especially with Daenaerys Targaryen present in the Vale with that snake Littlefinger whispering in her ear.

Littlefinger, she remembered very little of, he had been in Gulltown when she had been but a little girl, though if she remembered correctly he had often come to the Gates of the Moon to visit Lord Nestor. She remembered thinking him to be a snake and slightly creepy, and the letters she received from Randa seemed to suggest as much, the fact that Daenaerys Targaryen seemed to be relying so heavily on his council on the matters of the state was deeply distressing Mya knew for her husband. She was the one who had started this war that was currently being fought, her and Littlefinger, just when peace seemed about to return to the realm, the man who had had the highest ambitions according to Lord Varys had started yet another war that would likely dragon Westeros through for another two years, especially with winter here.

Eventually some two weeks after her husband’s letter arrived at Storm’s End, her husband arrived in the flesh. He came with a part of thirty men, mainly those who made up his household guard, something that signalled to her that this trip might be his last for a while. He seemed very, very tired when he greeted her and the children in the courtyard that afternoon, and in the evening once the children had been put to bed and they were in bed, he spoke sounding so very, very old. “Aegon has decided to march for the Reach, it appears that Lords Florent, Osgrey, Peake, Ambrose and Appleton have decided to ally with Daenaerys. They have mustered some 20,000 men and with winter here and Lord Mace ill, it seems that his son Ser Garlan will be leading the loyalist host. Aegon wishes to end that fighting quickly should Daenaerys seek to take the capital with him gone.”

“Where will you be going? With the King or will you be staying in King’s Landing?” My asks hearing the fear in her voice.

“I will be calling the banners and then heading to defend King’s Landing, and perhaps I will be needed in the Reach. The Stormlords could muster roughly 15,000 men. The fact that we were not needed to come to arms during the War at the Wall has allowed our men to replenish.” Her husband says tiredly.

Mya feels the fear begin to stir up inside of her at her husband’s words. “The king would leave you to hold King’s Landing against an army that could potentially have two dragons with it. One of which is said to the Black Dread reincarnated and the other which Lord Varys has said that not even the Princess can control? Would he truly be so cruel?”

Mya hears her husband sigh. “I must do as the King instructs my love. If I must hold King’s Landing whilst he deals with the threat in the Reach then I must do so. If I must fight the Reacher Lords alongside Ser Garlan Tyrell then I shall do so. Lord Targaryen shall be marching south with his dragon to help the Riverlords, and Martyn Lannister has called his banners, should the Vale march in full force then we shall be very stuck and King’s Landing will be needed to be defended.”

“What of the Queen and the Princess? Where will they go?” Mya asks.

Her husband sighs once more. “They will be coming here. Her Grace and the Princess will be the safest here. They might have gone to Dorne had there not been the threat of ships coming from the Iron Islands, or even from the Vale to intercept them. Furthermore there is someone in King’s Landing who works for Littlefinger who would have attempted to commandeer the ship had the Queen and Princess Alysanne left for Dorne by that route.”

Mya nods her head against her husband’s chest, and then says. “You know for a fact that Littlefinger has men inside King’s Landing still? I would have thought all of them would either of fled or been killed by now?”

“Because Varys found out what exactly Littlefinger himself did in his brothels. The man still owes large amounts of brothels in King’s Landing, and it would not do to draw attention to the fact that we know about his plots and intrigues by shutting down his brothels. But one of the workers there told one of Lord Varys men that Littlefinger has men everywhere doing deeds for him and trying to sow discord amongst the council. We know not who this man is, but Aegon has decreed the Queen and Princess Alysanne shall be safe here.” Jon replies.

“And when shall they be arriving?” Mya asks softly.

“In two weeks time. They set sail the same time that I left from King’s Landing, they will be circumventing some of the conventional sea routes, and will be on Greenstone at the moment. By that time I will be gone.” Jon replies.

Mya nods and then they drift off to sleep. The next two weeks are spent in hasty preparation both in order to make sure the castle is well stocked and equipped for when Queen Allyria and Princess Alysanne arrive and to make sure that Jon gets to spend enough time with Nestor and Cassana. Neither of their children truly understand what is going on, all they know is that their father is leaving. The Lords of the Stormlands answer the call to arms in full force, 15,000 men arrive at Storm’s End and at the feast held before they are to leave, Jon announces “500 men shall remain behind in the castle to serve as a garrison. We know not whether the Reach shall turn for Daenaerys, nor if Daenaerys shall come straight here, for we know Littlefinger has spies but how well the network runs we know not. I am entrusting Ser Rolland Storm to hold the castle as Castellan, the men left here shall look first to my wife and then to Ser Rolland.”

That night Jon simply says. “I know that you have been taking lessons in sword fighting with Ser Borros. Whilst normally I would chide you for doing such things. With myself gone and Ser Rolland only being seventeen, I entrust the defence of our children to you my love. Hold onto them and protect them and make sure that they are never left undefended.” He gives her a blade then, castle forged steel and Mya kisses him and swears not to let him down.

Five days Mya and their children say goodbye to Jon and the lords of the Stormlands  Queen Allyria and Princess Alysanne arrive accompanied by Ser Lyle Crakehall and Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard. Three days after that, they learn of the fighting that has broken out in the Westerlands led by rebel leader Ser Gowen Lannister of Lannisport. More fighting to come and perhaps Mya’s skills with the blade will be needed.


	34. King of Winter

**Jon Targaryen**

Winterfell, the castle loomed large in his dreams as always. Mighty and imposing, it had taken three years but finally Winterfell had been returned to its former glory. The Broken Tower broken since the days of Jon’s great, great grandfather had been knocked down and in its place a structure had been built using the correspondence with Aegon and the records from the citadel of how the Dragonpit had been made, a structure with which Jon’s own dragon Rhaegal could live comfortably. The halls and walls of the main castle had been nearing completion when Jon had marched south with Stannis Baratheon, and were now fully complete and looking even grander than they had done before. He felt a lot of pride in seeing what he and his wives and the people of Winterfell and the north had worked so hard for had come to fruition and looked as nice as it did.

Then there was the fact that he was a father, something that still surprised even now, something that when he had been a man of the Night’s Watch sent there for attacking a bastard of a prince, he had thought he would never have had the chance to have. His eldest son Rickard was five years old now, and looked every inch like Alys did, though she claimed he looked like him, with his dark brown curly hair and grey eyes and long face, Jon’s son was very, very active, and a joyful child. Then there was Jon’s second son by Alys, whom they had named Torrhen after her favourite brother, Torrhen had been born some three moons ago with a mop of brown hair and grey eyes as well a Stark in look as well as in name. Then there was Jon and Sansa’s first child, whom they had named Aemon after the Dragonknight and one of the smartest people Jon, had ever known in Maester Aemon. Aemon looked like Sansa what with his mop of auburn curls and blue eyes, and Jon loved all three of his sons fiercely as he did his wives.

At first he had worried that perhaps Sansa and Alys would not get along with each other, Alys was fierce and independent, whereas the Sansa Jon had known had been very ladylike and very shy with such people as Alys and yet the two of them seemed to have got on from the very beginning, with Alys making Sansa’s life so much easier by being caring and loving. Jon loved both of his wives; a feeling that somehow despite what anyone else might say felt just right, after having been married to the both of them now for two years he could not imagine what life would be like without either of them by his side. He knew that there had been some murmuring in the north when his betrothal had been announced, as some of the northern lords may have thought that they would be rewarded for their loyalty, but Jon would not, would never allow Sansa to leave the north unless she truly wanted to. In the south Jon had seen the disapproving looks of the lords who had been raised with the Seven, but to be honest he did not frankly care about what they thought, those southrons with their strange rules and regulations.

Of course both his wives and his mother- for that was what she was no matter whom had given birth to him- insisted that he did need to care about what the southern lords thought of him, as there was a very real chance that he could become the King of Westeros, should a son not be born to Aegon and Allyria. Really, Jon was praying fervently that a son would be born to his brother and aunt; he had no desire to head south again unless he truly had to let alone be king. And he knew that though he had earnt the loyalty of the northern lords, there were still some who grumbled about being part of the Seven Kingdoms, in fact Jon had overheard Lord Ryswell once complain that “The Young Wolf died for our freedom and yet the dragon has given us the chains once more.” But simply Jon knew that the north could not hope to sustain itself alone now with winter here, unless it wished to risk more alienation for the time being. If he did become King, perhaps there could be ways he could solve this quandary but that was a matter for another time.

There was yet another matter that had come to plague Jon and his family, that of his cousin Arya. For many years everyone had thought Arya dead or disappeared, but then Jon had been found one day in the godswood by one of the household guard who had pleaded for him to come to Sansa’s solar, worried that something ill had befallen his wife, he had run there Ghost hard on his heels, he had entered the solar only to a find Arya standing over a cowering Sansa with a blade in her hand, and a snarl on her face. Jon had not believed what he was seeing and Ghost reacting to his state of panic and anger had barrelled straight into Arya knocking her away from Sansa and Aemon and though they had scuffled for a bit, eventually Arya had been subdued. Though when Jon had gone to speak with her then his cousin had had a fierce look in her eyes that seemed almost demonic, and she had spat “I have a mission to do, kill the Stark brat and end the threat to the Queen. Get off of me.”

Jon had stared at his cousin and then moving Ghost with his foot, he had picked Arya up by her arms, she was taller than she had been when he had last seen her but she was still a great deal smaller and lighter than him, and he had held her there and in a cold voice said. “Arya, you’re home. You’re at Winterfell now you have no one to kill, no need to kill please Arya!” It had taken a lot more than  that for Arya to stop thrashing in his arms, but when she had, Jon had called for Maester Gerold  and had had the man put her to sleep. He had then checked on Sansa who had seemed visibly and understandably shaken, she kept on mumbling through her tears and sobs “She tried to kill me Jon, because of what I did to father, that’s why she tried to kill me.” Jon had tried his best to soothe her, and was deeply grateful that no actual harm had fallen to either her or Aemon, he had taken her to his rooms, where Alys, Rickard and Torrhen had been and then had summoned his mother and uncle Arthur and ordered them both to remain there for the time being.

Arya had woken up sometime later, thrashing about demanding to be set free and over the next three days, Jon did what he could to bring his little cousin back from whatever nightmare she had lived since her father had been killed upon the steps of the Sept of Baelor. He learnt various things during this time, such as Arya’s travels around the Riverlands, how she met Gendry- who was here in Winterfell serving as Uncle Benjen’s squire- and how she had been so close to the Twins when Robb and Aunt Catelyn had been killed. He also learnt chilling stories of some of what she had had to do with the Faceless men, all of these stories were told through a looking glass as if Arya was not truly present when she told them and for many, many days afterwards she was silent and still and not really present, and it seemed as if she was still in Bravos half the time not here in Winterfell. It was only when Jon sent Gendry in with Ghost that Arya- the real Arya- seemed to come back and then the dawning of what had truly happened came upon her and she cried and cried and cried and begged for forgiveness though Jon simply told her he was not the one she should ask forgiveness from.

After Arya and Sansa had spoken Jon had entered the room and had simply stood at the foot of the bed and looked at his cousin in silence, debating whether he should feel angry at her or not. “Who sent you Arya? Do you remember that?” Was the first question he asked her.

Her response confirmed his fears. “I do vaguely. I remember being in Bravos and then meeting the Sealord and being sent to Lys where I met a woman with silver hair and a pirate. They sent me here I think.”

Jon had nodded and then had walked out of the room and spoken with uncle Benjen and uncle Arthur had had simply said. “Daenaerys sent Arya to kill Sansa and Aemon. This means war, send the ravens out we must march.” And so the ravens had been sent out and the men had started trickling in, despite the war in the south and the war with the Others, the northern lords continued to prove time and time again that whenever the Starks called them to arms they would reply with their full might. In all some 8,000 men arrived from Last Hearth, Barrowtown, the Rills, Cerwyn, Deepwood Motte, Bear Island, Karhold and the mountain clans. With Torrhen’s Square still under Ironborn control that was the first place that they would strike out to bring back under control. With Jon stating, “The kraken still remain here in our lands. We shall drive them off and then we shall defeat the mad Queen.”

It was just as they were about to march that Arya came to him then, recovered from her sleep and illness or so she would have had Jon believe. “I want to come Jon. I can fight, you know I can.” She had said all righteous anger on display.

Jon had looked at her, and then his thoughts had gone back to how she had stood over Sansa with her blade- Needle- drawn and ready to strike. “No.” He says coldly.

“But Jon!” Arya begins to protest Jon cuts her off.

“No. You may have been trained in the arts of assassination Arya, and whilst such a thing maybe useful at some point during this war, you shall not becoming south with us. This is war. Not how the Faceless men would train you, to kill an unsuspecting victim, the men we fight will know what we are about and they will be on their guard. And besides, you still have not earnt my trust. You did nearly kill my wife and child. You shall remain here in Winterfell where uncle Benjen and Ashara may keep an eye on you. And if you do anything that displeases them or Alys or Sansa you shall have me to answer to.” He says his voice still cold.

Arya tries a different tactic then, knowing that protesting she knew not what she was doing will sound hollow. “But I have skills that could be of great use to you Jon! I could help take out key commanders of the enemy armies for you and lessen their strengths. You know I know who the key commanders are in this war!”

Jon had merely looked at her then and said simply. “Yes but some of those men will be our allies in the future. The Vale is not as united behind Daenaerys Targaryen as either she or Littlefinger would want you to believe. I will not have them killed simply so that you can have your revenge.”

Arya had said nothing and had stormed off then. Jon had been left in his solar for a long time before Uncle Benjen had come to find him. “I take it you spoke with Arya then Jon?” his uncle had asked politely.

Jon had sighed then and said. “More like I told her she could not come and she tried to protest about it. Thank the gods Gendry is not marching south with us otherwise she definitely would have demanded she come south.”

“She could be useful Jon. She does have the ability to take out men without them knowing about it.” Uncle Benjen had said carefully.

Jon had merely stared at his uncle for a moment before saying. “I will not take an assassin with me and my army to the south. Not when I know how angry Arya is, her anger needs to cool down before she can ever be of use. I will not have her near a sword or a battle until I know she can be trusted.”

“And how will you know she can be trusted unless you let her come with you?” uncle Benjen had asked.

“I do not. But I want her here, with Sansa and Alys and her nephews so that she can understand the meaning of family again. So she can get her memories back and be more of a person and less of a machine. And besides you will be here for sometime will you not uncle?” Jon had stated.

His uncle Benjen had sighed then, the sigh of a  man with so many cares on his shoulders. “You know I cannot stay for long Jon. I am still sworn to the Night’s Watch, and though the Wall and the Others may no longer be here, there will come a time when the Watch will be needed again. Even now we are needed, where else will the criminals and destitute of the Kingdoms go?”

“But must you go Uncle? You could marry and start a family of your own; you could stay here for the rest of your days and help me run Winterfell. You could do any number of things uncle. If it is your vows you are worried about, I could write to Aegon once the fighting is done and have him release you.” Jon had said desperately.

His uncle had sighed even deeper then. “You know I would not want that Jon. I do not believe that Kings should have the say in whether or not a man can be free of his oaths to the Watch, only under the most extreme of circumstances should such a thing happen otherwise it sets a bad precedent. And besides you have Alys and Sansa here and Lady Ashara and Ser Arthur to help you, you do not need me. I served as the Stark in Winterfell during Robert’s Rebellion and I hated it, I will serve as the Stark in Winterfell for now, but once this war is done I shall return north.”

Jon knew by his uncle’s tone that there was no pointing in arguing with him and so he had simply nodded, the next day he and the northmen had set of first for Torrhen’s Square, where the minute Rhaegal’s wings were heard over the castle, the gates opened and Dagmer Cleftjaw and his thirty Ironborn warriors had come out and bent the knee and recognised Aegon as their true king, then the march south had begun. At Moat Cailin they had been joined by 500 men from White Harbour led by Ser Wylis and Ser Wendel Manderly and some 200 men from the neck itself led by Lord Howland’s brother Uthor Reed. Jon declared that some 500 men would be left to hold the Moat and with the Iron Fleet and the strength of the Iron Islands at the Vale there should be no risk to Moat Cailin. It was at the Twins where they were greeted by Mors Umber’s wife that they learnt of the battle of the Red Fork between loyalist riverlords led by Lord Edmure and rebel riverlords led by Lord Goodbrook. Jon declared a quick pace march and as he flew on the back of Rhaegal he got the first understanding of the fighting.

The Riverlords were engaged in fighting on the banks of the Red fork, swinging and hacking. The sounds of the fight and men dying and screaming reached him from up high on Rhaegal, when the she dragon let loose a terrifying roar, the men on the banks froze and the northmen charged. Jon himself took more of a laid back role in the fighting watching as his men began to turn the tide of the fighting, and whenever there seemed to be a shift toward the rebels he would pull Rhaegal into a dive and get him to breathe fire onto the enemy lines.

Eventually after hours of fighting the rebels threw down their swords and Jon landed, he was dressed in dark blue armour with the direwolf of House Stark emblazoned onto it. He greeted Sansa’s uncle Lord Edmure with a stiff nod and then walked toward where the prisoner Lord Goodbrook, the only remaining rebel lord alive was being held. Together with Lord Edmure and Lord Blackwood he advanced forward and then said “You fought for the wrong side today Lord Goodbrook. Your host has been defeated your men killed or having bent the knee. Why did you rebel when King Aegon has brought peace to the realm?”

Lord Lyman Goodbrook a proud and valiant man Jon had been told, looks up at Jon then and sneers. “Because that man is no king. A pretender, the real Aegon was killed during the sack of King’s Landing, and Queen Daenaerys is the one who will save us from his sin. He hath married a harlot, and she shall bring sin down upon us.”

Jon feels anger well up inside of him at the insult done to his aunt and simply says. “Then you shall die.” Lord Lyman is shoved to his knees his head shoved onto a block, and Jon swings his sword and in one clean stroke takes off Lord Lyman’s head. Sometime later as Jon and the northmen and the Riverlords are sat in the command tent discussing what their next move should be, march east and take the attack to the Vale or march west to aid Martyn Lannister a messenger comes in and informs them of a host being led by Lord Arthor Ambrose numbering some 30,000 strong marching from the Reach toward King’s Landing, having captured Ser Garlan Tyrell, another host some 15,000 strong under Lord Matthew Meadows is laying siege to Highgarden. Jon looks at the lords assembled and says. “We must send word to the capital, and we must free Highgarden. Send word to Moat Cailin to strengthen their defences.”

And so they march, on and on they march rushing to get to Highgarden to free it from the traitorous lords, only to find the siege lines gone, the enemy departed and Lord Willas Tyrell there informing them that. “My father died during the siege, and the rebels left the minute word came that Prince Oberyn was martialling men. But there has been word from King’s Landing my lord of Stark. White Harbour has fallen to Nestor Royce and the Valemen.”


	35. Lion of the West Part II

**Martyn Lannister**

Casterly Rock featured often in his dreams now, not so much the castle or the fact that he was its lord- a position he had never been trained for nor expected to inherit- but rather the people who made Casterly Rock so joyful to live in, his wife Margaery with her brown curls and beautiful smile and mind and their children Loren who seemed to be the very picture of Margaery and Martha with her blond locks and sweet smiles, Aunt Genna with her sharp mind and even sharper tongue they were the people who helped Martyn remain sane during the many challenges he faced. Aunt Genna’s husband Ser Emmon though, the man had been a problem, a never ending one since Martyn had become Lord of the Rock five years ago, the man had initially not taken Martyn seriously and then when Edmure Tully had been given Riverrun and the Lord Paramountship of the Trident back by Aegon, Martyn’s uncle had fumed and fumed, and had begged Martyn to speak with the King. Martyn had merely looked at his uncle disgust filling his eyes, and had simply told him “My uncle’s dealings with your family shamed our house. I will not listen to your whining anymore.”

And so Emmon Frey had kept quiet, until Daenaerys Targaryen had come along and then he had begun pestering Martyn to declare for Daenaerys and to give her cousin Jaime, Martyn had looked at his uncle then and said. “Daenaerys Targaryen is a mad woman, she will be more likely to burn us all down to the ground than accept Jaime and pardon us. Besides Jaime and Lady Brienne are family matters now.” When uncle Emmon had not stopped protesting, Martyn had simply arranged for a little accident for him to happen when he went out riding, his body was found three days later broken and twisted, a fall from a horse the maester decreed and no more was said of it, neither Aunt Genna nor her grandchildren mourned the loss of the man.

Martyn’s thoughts then turned to Jaime and the Lady Brienne both at the Rock still. Martyn had debated over what to do with them for the longest time, he knew his Aunt Genna was deeply in favour of simply keeping them both at the Rock and not telling a soul that they were there, and Martyn had been deeply in favour of doing such a thing, until the Lady Brienne had insisted quite stubbornly that she needed to go and find the Lady Sansa. The woman did not believe Martyn when he told her that the Lady Sansa was fine and safe in Winterfell, and Jaime had joked that she would only be satisfied when she saw the Lady Sansa with her own two eyes. Martyn had simply told her he could not allow her to leave not now that she was here with his cousin. Jaime, the man he had grown up idolizing and wanting to be like had looked at him then and said “And what do you plan on doing with me cousin? Do you plan on giving me to Aegon or to Daenaerys?”

Martyn had stared long and hard at his cousin then and had then said. “You shall both remain here, but you shall both serve some purpose I will not waste my dungeons on you both. Jaime you shall serve as my castellan when I am gone. Cousin Damion is expecting another child and I think he has enough to worry about. Lady Brienne you shall help with the defences and that shall be that.”

The Lady had looked like she was going to protest but one look from Jaime and she remained silent. Jaime had then asked him a question Martyn still knew not the answer to. “When this war is over Martyn what then?” Martyn knew what his cousin meant, but he knew not how to reply, he knew not what he wished to say to the man he had considered a hero for longer than he could remember. Instead he had simply walked away from their cells and then told Damion about the new arrangements and then had ravens sent out to call the banners to war to aid the King in defending his realm.

15,000 men answered his call to arms. Lords Crakehall, Lefford, Marbrand, Banefort, Brax, Clifton, Jast, Lydden, Payne and Prester came with their men. Other lords had lost greater numbers of men during the war of the Five Kings and in the fighting with the White Walkers and as such did not have the strength to answer call to arms, these houses Martyn instructed with the defence of the Westerlands when they had enough men to call to arms. Other houses led by Ser Gown Lannister of Lannisport rebelled against Martyn’s call to arms and instead declared for Daenaerys. The houses that sided with the traitor included House Westerling, House Spicer, House Algood, House Drox, House Farman and House Sarsfield altogether the rebel lords managed to raise a host of some 10,000 men and they assembled at Castamere perhaps preparing to launch a direct attack on the Rock or cut off Martyn’s advancement to the Golden Tooth.

The battle itself was short and sweet, both forces met not at Castamere which was still half a ruin, but on the summit of the Pendric Hills battling on Lion’s Point. Martyn himself getting his first real taste of fighting since the war of the Five Kings, felt rusty but still it felt good to be doing something other than having to think of politics. He swung his sword left, right and centre bringing it down on his foes who came to close to him, hacking and slashing he fought his way through, leading the left flank of the loyalist host he rode through men and killed many more.

There was one point during the battle where he feared he might actually die. A brute with the arms of House Sarsfield on his armour rode forth wielding a war hammer, and he swung the hammer so hard that Martyn’s horse actually keeled over with the pressure of the blow. Martyn just managed to avoid being crushed by his horse, but was dazed when he got up, so much so that the big bull of a man managed to knock him back down again and soon Martyn had received several blows to the chest and arms, and he could feel the dents in his armour digging into his skin. The pain was becoming unbearable, yet somehow he found the strength to continue, he staggered to his feet and kept swinging his sword, left right and centre he swung until the bull was lying face down in the ground blood pooling around his body and adding to the vast amount already present on the battle field.

The fighting still raged fiercely around him, there were countless bodies strewn across the ground, their blood pooling around them, the sound of steel on steel and the screams of men in their death throes was beginning to get to Martyn. Yet still he found the strength to raise his sword and continue swinging it, left and right he swung, he hacked, he ducked and dodged, he did all he could to remain alive. And at the end of it all his blade was stained crimson red, red with blood, red of victory. Ser Gowen Lannister had been slain but his second in command Ser Charles Vikary was brought before Martyn at the end of the battle when the rebels had either been killed or had bent the knee once more. “You rebelled against your liege lord and your king Ser Charles and for what? A madwoman’s promise?”

Ser Charles was covered in blood and dirt but he still sounded proud when he said. “No my lord. We fought so Queen Daenaerys may get her birthright. Not the pretender you call Aegon.”

Martyn merely looked at the man and then said. “What of the other lords of Westeros the Florents? Why do they fight?”

Ser Charles had sneered then and said “For Highgarden, they want your whore’s family dead and their arses in Highgarden in fact your goodfather the fat flower will most likely be dead and his son Ser Gallant captured or dead.”

Martyn felt panic in his heart and then quickly plunged his sword into Ser Charles’s stomach ending the man’s life. He then ordered a quick march from the Pendric Hills to Cornfield where the maester there informed them for the loyalist victory on the Red Fork of how Edmure Tully and the royalist Riverlords with aid from Lord Targaryen and the northman had defeated the rebel riverlords. But the maester then mentioned that White Harbour had fallen to Nestor Royce and the Valemen, and that had surprised Martyn, for he had thought that the Valemen had given their support to Aegon unofficially but then he thought that perhaps they were simply biding their time. Regardless he ordered a quick march from Cornfield to Highgarden where they were met by Lord Willas Tyrell, now Lord of Highgarden who informed them that “The siege was ended when Lord Appleton marched south to join forces with Lord Ambrose in marching on the capital. Lord Targaryen had come here after the Red Fork to assist us, but went north on his dragon when he learnt of White Harbour’s fall.”

“What of King’s Landing?” Martyn had asked.

Lord Willas had sighed and said. “It appears his grace has grown confident, with the defeat of the rebel riverlords at the Red Fork he believes that the Riverlands are secure. And of course with the raven sent to King’s Landing after the Pendric Hills he believes that his throne is largely secure. He is growing more arrogant because of it, he does not realise the threat he will be under should Lord Ambrose and Lord Appleton have the chance to combine their hosts.”

Martyn sighs and feels fear begin to build up inside of him, his own house nearly burnt to the dust because his uncle and cousins became too arrogant in their safety, he can’t have his friend suffer the same fate. “Has Lord Connington mobilised his forces though? With the might of the Stormlands and the Crownlands behind him surely they should be able to withhold the attack led by Lords Ambrose and Appleton no matter the size of their combined hosts.”

Lord Willas gives a rueful sigh and says. “Lord Ambrose is an accomplished warrior, and his host of some 30,000 men managed to destroy the host my brother Ser Garlan led on the Cider Plane. My brother is a hostage and the remaining lords who are loyal to Highgarden and the King do not wish to fight much longer. They have fought a long hard war before with the War of the Five Kings, and the War with the White Walkers and with winter still firmly here, some simply wish for peace. I know not what the situation is with the crownlands nor the Stormlands, and I can say for certain that the hosts that Lord Connington and his grace the King muster won’t stand a chance against a battle hungry Reacher Host.”

Martyn hates the sense of despair in Lord Willas’ tone and says. “All is not lost yet my lord, we have managed to crush the rebels in the Westerlands and Ser Garth Greenfield shall be marching with more men soon enough, they shall help us fight the traitors Ambrose and Appleton and help secure the Reach for his Grace.”

Lord Willas does not seem particularly convinced but nonetheless the man still allows Martyn and his army the chance to stay in Highgarden for a few days to allow them to rest stating above Martyn’s protests. “Lord Appleton and his men will know that they cannot march to quickly otherwise they will not be fit for battle, more than likely they will be camped on the Cockleswent, you shall have enough time what with the snow and the rain to catch up with them my lord.”

And so they camped in the grounds around Highgarden, Martyn and Lords Crakehall and Brax within Highgarden itself and there Martyn saw just how desperate the situation could have been. For though Highgarden itself had many supplies, there was still the signs of the siege that had led to Lord Mace’s death evident in the haunted look that Lady Alerie and Lady Leonnette had about them.  Lady Olenna, his Margaery’s grandmother looked at him once before saying. “Come to wage war in the Reach have you lion boy? Well it will be a damned sight harder than waging war in the West. Lords Ambrose and Appleton are not the fools Lords Ashford and Florent are, they will continue the fight.”

They were in Highgarden for six days before Lord Randyll Tarly arrived with men from Goldengrove, Old Oaks, Red Lake and the survivors of the battle of the Cider Plane. The man was strict and somber, though when he discussed the reality of their situation. “I have brought with me some 2,000 men Lord Martyn. How many men do you think Ser Greenfield will be able to bring with him?”

Martyn sighed and said “I know not how many exactly my lord. I know perhaps some 3,000 men could come with him. If we write to Riverrun perhaps Lord Edmure will be able to join us in beating the Lords Ambrose and Appleton.”

Discussion raged long into the night, before it was decided that they would set out for Longtable where Lady Olenna’s spies had reported that the host commanded by Lord Appleton was currently camped. Lord Willas bade them farewell and told them that 3,000 men would be joining them sometime soon led by his uncle Ser Baelor Hightower for they had marched from Oldtown some weeks ago. Sure enough as they arrived on the outskirts of Cider Plane where the battle that had led to Ser Garlan’s capture they were joined by men bearing the Hightower of the Hightowers, Ser Baelor was usually a jolly man or so Martyn had been told, today though his face was nothing but somber. They discussed how best to deal with Lord Appleton’s host which was at last estimate mean to number some 20,000 men. Ser Baelor simply said. “Lord Arthur is likely to have grown over confident after the siege of Highgarden, he will not expect us to divide our forces perhaps if one part of the host goes on a forced march we can surround him and enact a hammer and the anvil formation.”

Lord Randyll disagreed and said. “We would be better served marching in one host and then having the van form a pincer movement, Lord Appleton will be fighting in the van you can count on it.”

Eventually Martyn said. “Very well if we are all agreed that Lord Arthur will be in the van then it is best if we place a pincer movement for the Van. Lord Randyll you shall lead the Van, Ser Baelor you shall lead the right, I shall lead the left and Lord Crakehall shall lead the centre.” That agreed they all retired for the night, for the march the next day would begin early and would likely end in battle. As he slept that night, Martyn dreamt of Margaery and her soft hair and tender lips, and her laugh and her eyes. He could feel himself growing hard at the thought of her pressed against him, and he desired so badly to see her, his love who was with child once more. He had sworn to her that he would return to her alive, and he fully intended to keep that promise.

They set off early the next morning and soon the horn was being blown and the battle of Longtable had begun. The snow covered most of the ground and the land surrounding the town was slushy where the rain had fallen and melted previous snow. Martyn fought hard, they all did, swinging and hacking and slashing doing all they could to survive and put their side ahead in the battle. He struck left, he ducked, and dodged, hacking a man’s head off occasionally, and sometimes being dealt many blows, one of which he seriously thought might knock him off of his horse it was so strong, all it did in the end was dent parts of his red armour.

Snow began to fall as the battle of Longtable raged, covering the white powder already on the ground, and making it harder for Martyn to see in front of him, going by instinct as to when to raise his sword to block and parry and to swing. His horse stumbled once or twice on the thick outlines of rocks covered under layers of snow, but the creature never looked as if it was going to fall. And for that Martyn was thankful, for it allowed him to continue swinging his sword left, right and centre hacking down men and beast alike. Painting the white snow red, and littering the ground with bodies.

The fighting continued even though the men were tiring, still the battle raged on and on, Martyn felt as if his arms were going to fall of so many times did he swing his sword or raise it up to defend himself. He  was dimly aware that he was bleeding in different places, the wounds from sword strikes that he had not been able to properly deflect or defend himself against, but against his armour he could not truly tell how badly he was bleeding. That was until someone with a axe threw the axe and it struck his helm knocking him out and causing him to slump on his horse.

He awoke sometime later in a tent, the wind gusting in. He sat up and shivered, and then found himself staring straight into his cousin Ser Tywin Frey’s face, his cousin had inherited his mother’s looks and golden hair. “Ah Martyn thank the gods you’re okay, we were beginning to panic.”

Martyn felt his head begin to swim as he tried to move forward, Tywin pushed him back to rest his head against a pillow, and Martyn asked. “What happened to the battle Tywin? Did we win?”

His cousin laughed then and said. “Of course we did coz. Do you think I’d be sitting here trying to talk to you if we had lost? No we won alright, once Lord Randyll cut down Lord Appleton his men bent the knee well enough. We lost only some 5,000 men to their 10,000. The Pincer movement truly worked coz.”

“Did Ser Garth join us in the end coz?” Martyn asked.

His cousin grimaced at that and said. “ Ser Garth and his men have declared for Daenaerys and are currently marching through the Riverlands burning and pillaging as they go. Lord Edmure Tully is marching to stop them at Harrenhal for now.” Martyn sighed deeply and felt anger beginning to boil inside of himself, he would need to deal with the rebels once this was all over and done with. “There’s more coz.” Tywin said sounding scared. Martyn looked at his cousin then and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “There was a raven from Lord Connington, there was fighting at Fawnton, between the host Lord Connington had assembled and Lord Ambrose’s host. Lord Connington and his men were soundly defeated, but Connington managed to beat a retreat to Grand View, Lord Ambrose has marched onto King’s Landing. And it appears as if King Aegon has stirred himself from King’s Landing with the men from the Crownlands.”

Martyn nodded and then said. “We must march soon then, we must aid the King and attack Lord Ambrose from the rear if we can.”

Tywin was about to reply when Lord Randyll entered the tent and said. “That will not be possible my lord. The information Ser Tywin has given you is old, some three days ago Daenaerys Targaryen descended from the Vale with a host some 25,000 strong and destroyed the host Lord Edmure had assembled to deal with Ser Garth Greenfield, Lord Edmure rots in a cell now in Harrenhal. She then marched onward for King’s Landing where she and King Aegon met in open battle, her host defeated his host and her black monstrosity killed the King’s dragon, but not before the King’s dragon managed to wound her dragon. But still it was not enough, the King is dead, King’s Landing has fallen.”


	36. Get Born Again

**Jon Connington**

The sounds of steel on steel still echoed in his head, the sounds of men screaming and crying out for their loved ones echoed in his head as well. He had spent a good twenty years trying to rid himself of the sound of bells after his failure to oust Robert Baratheon during the Battle of the Bells, and had finally succeeded in doing so when Aegon had taken King’s Landing, but now he had a whole other set of ghosts and noises to plague his waking and his dreams. The battle of Fawnton had been a brutal battle, Lords Ambrose, Florent and Ashford had assembled a host some 30,000 strong and had marched from the Cider Planes where they had smashed the host commanded by Ser Garlan Tyrell, Jon had led 15,000 men from Storm’s End to face them, at the battle, and had failed miserably his men had been crushed, Lords Cafferen, Fell and Grandison were all slain, their bodies decomposing in the snow now, Lords Dondarrion, Boiler and Seaworth had either been captured or injured.

Jon had recognised that the battle was lost when he saw Lord Seaworth fall down and not move again, the man had served Stannis Baratheon loyally for years and had given his all during the battle, the fact that he was not getting up could only mean one thing, the battle was lost and it was time for them to cut their losses. And so Jon had led his men in a retreat not to Storm’s End as he suspected the enemy might think he would but to castle Grandview where Lord Grandison’s heir waited for them.  All the while Jon felt the pang of humiliation burning inside of him, the defeat there had allowed Lord Ambrose and co a clear shot at marching on King’s Landing now to aid the bitch queen Daenaerys. Aegon held the city with only 15,000 men from the Crownlands and could not expect any help from either the west where Martyn Lannister was tied up in fighting Lord Appleton’s host or from the Riverlands with Lord Edmure and Lord Targaryen busy trying to fight out the rebellious riverlords.

They arrived at Grandview having not been followed, Jon had ordered the men of the rear to keep a clear eye on where Lord Ambrose led his men to, it would not do to have them follow them all the way to Grandview. In total some 6,000 of the 15,000 men Jon had taken with him from Storm’s End made it to Grandview, and there they tended to their wounded and licked their wounded pride. Jon only hoped that Mya and their children were safe and that Aegon would be able to hold the city for a little while longer. Whilst at Grandview Jon learnt of the battle of Longtable and the death of Lord Appleton and the bending the knee of several of the rebellious Reacher Lords, and that they had added their strength to Martyn Lannister’s host, that news gave him some hope, hope that was dashed when he learnt of the fall of White Harbour to men commanded by Lord Nestor Royce, that news had severely worried him, Royce’s cousin had sworn that the Vale would be loyal to Aegon till the end of days, what had changed he wondered? More bad news came floating in Ser Garth Greenfield had led 2,000 men on a pillaging campaign in the Riverlands in order to tempt Lord Edmure and his men out of Riverrun, the ploy had worked Lord Edmure and his men had given chase to Ser Garth and had been taken in the rear by men led by Ser Jorah Mormont mounted on the white Dragon Viserion, Lord Edmure was held captive now in Harrenhal.

Jon had begun to worry for the kingdom’s safety at that, Viserion was noted as being the most unstable of Princess Daenaerys’ dragons, the one most likely to burn friend and foe alike, whether or not Mormont had actually ridden the dragon in battle Jon knew not, but if the dragon was being used in active combat then things had just become a great deal more difficult for Aegon. Then the news had come of the battle for King’s Landing fought in the sky and on the ground, Aegon had fought his aunt, Acteon had gone up against the beast that many were calling the Black Dread reincarnate, and had lost. Aegon and Acteon’s heads were apparently mounted on spikes on Traitor’s Walk, the army of the crownlands defeated, fled or bent of knee. The news had sent Jon’s world spinning, the boy whom he had grown to view as a son was dead, gone killed by his aunt who cared not for the people she would claim to rule but simply because she wished to sit on the ugly iron throne. The boy he considered a son was dead rotting in the ground and now Jon Targaryen was the rightful king.

Jon had remained in a state of silence and mourning for nearly five days, allowing his bannermen, Lords Dondarrion and Estermont to do most of the planning for how they were going to take King’s Landing. Jon could not believe that Aegon was dead, he had failed the father and now he had failed the son, the son who had taken back what was his, only to have it taken from him by a girl not capable of ruling by herself. Jon Targaryen, the son of the wolf whore who had bewitched Rhaegar was now King, the rightful king and though it was a bitter pill to swallow, Jon knew he would have to help the boy, if not for him then for Aegon and Rhaegar who would never want the mad king’s daughter sat on the Iron Throne. His mourning ended when Lord Dondarrion came to him and told him of the attacks Daenaerys Targaryen had ordered on Storm’s End, men had been sent from the capital to attack his wife and children, and Mya had beaten them back each and  everytime, his commanders were surprised that his wife was the one leading the defences of the castle, but Jon had merely smiled weakly and had been deeply thankful for training his wife in how to defend herself, he had lost Aegon he was not going to lose his wife and children.

Jon finally stirred himself from his grief when he learnt of men under Ser Jorah Mormont’s command marching for Storm’s End itself, whether to lay siege to the castle Jon knew not but he would not allow his wife and children to be put at risk anymore. He and his men set out that night for Storm’s End and when they arrived they found the scenes of a battle already raging, steel on steel, men fighting men, and Jon felt his heart give a lurch when he saw Mya out there in front mounted on a red stallion with bronze armour on and wielding a sword, he spurred his horse on to get to where she was and began cutting down all who stood in his path so much so that his sword was stained red by the time he got close to where his wife was. He cut down another man who was in his way and was about to come and aid his wife when he saw her parry a blow and then duck and dodge another blow before she threw her sword straight at the man and saw the sword pierce the man’s chest. Jon breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that and heard his wife give a whoop of delight. He rode up to her then and said “Well fought my love.” His wife turned to him then and was about speak when a big barrel chested man came storming towards her, Jon pushed her horse to the side and cleaved the approaching man in half.

“Thank you my love.” Mya says to him smiling weakly through her helm. Jon is very tempted to rip the helm off her and kiss her there and then, but instead he merely grunts and then proceeds to fight side by side with his wife, cutting down those who think to come too close to them. Swinging left and right, back and forth, Jon and Mya parry blows with their attackers and then end up killing the attackers at the same time, fighting as if in unison, as if they truly have become one heart and one soul and one mind. Some of the attackers and their comrades will later note that when Jon raises his sword so too does Mya, a swing from Jon will certainly be followed by a swing from Mya; it will later be the source of much admiration as well as some bawdy drinking songs. But for now the battle continues.

Jon keeps one eye on the skies, waiting nervously for the beating of leathern wings which would signal their doom. “Has a dragon been sighted here at all my love?” Jon shouts over the din of the battle, he does not hear his wife’s response for soon enough he is engaged in combat once more, swinging like a man possessed swinging left and right. Hacking men apart as quickly as possible, these are not the unsullied that he knows Daenaerys has, no these are likely men who have been forced marched from King’s Landing in short notice. It shows in the way their bodies’ slump after their deaths, or after their victories. Soon enough the battle is over, and Jon stands covered in blood and dirt, his horse equally bloody as is his wife. They ride back to the castle with shouts of “Connington!” and Lord and Lady Connington echoing in the air behind them, when they reach the gates of the castle, Ser Rodrik Storm the bastard of Grandview rides up to them and says “My lord, my lady, we have a prisoner for you!” And so Ser Jorah Mormont the commander of the forces that were sent to attack Storm’s End is thrown to the ground at their feet, beaten and bedraggled.

Jon merely looks at the man and says “Take him to the cells I shall deal with him later.” With that he rides into the castle courtyard with his wife and the remaining men and dismounts, helping his wife to dismount as well. Once they are inside the castle he turns to Mya and kisses her deeply, trying to put all his emotions into the kiss. “I have missed you my love,” he says. “You are well?”

Mya smiles weakly and says. “As well as can be now that you are here my love. I am so very sorry for King Aegon’s death.”

Jon grimaces then, and Mya takes hold of his hand and leads him to their rooms. “Where are the children and the Queen my love?” he asks softly.

“They are in my chambers, my love. Ser Lyle is guarding them.” Mya replies, Jon merely nods before they are in the chambers they share most of the time, and both of them strip each other of their armour and clothing before they stand naked before each other. It might be the tiredness and the grief that prompts Jon to make love to his wife then when there are many things that need to be done, or it might simply be the fact that he wants to hold his wife in his arms that does, either way they spend the night making love to each other, only surfacing in the morning the day after to look over the debris of the battle and to speak with the Queen.

Queen Allyria looks even more beautiful now in grief than she did when her husband was alive, hauntingly so, like some say Ashara Dayne did when her daughter Jeyne Sand died, of course Jon would not know he has not seen Ashara Dayne for so many years, not since Harrenhal at least. “Your Grace.” Jon and Mya both say bowing and curtseying respectively. Ser Lyle Crakehall of the Kingsguard is there guarding the queen, and her daughter Princess Alysanne, Jon’s own children Nestor and Cassana were there as well they ran to him and Mya when they saw them, both babbling on about this and that. Jon listened for a while and then put his son down and watched as Nestor ran to Mya and began talking to her, Mya looked at Jon and nodded just the once before leading Nestor, Cassana and Princess Alysanne out of the room. Ser Lyle remained. “I am very sorry for your loss Your Grace.” Jon says once more. “His Grace fought valiantly and was a brave and honourable man.”

Queen Allyria is silent for a moment before she says. “Sit down Lord Connington. You must be tired after the battle yesterday.” Jon sits then and waits for the Queen to continue speaking which she does after a space. “My husband is dead, and my daughter’s life is in danger. The man I once thought my nephew is now the King, the rightful king. Will you continue to fight for Jon’s cause when I know you have had your doubts about him since the day Aegon told you about his parentage?”

Jon is silent for a long moment before saying. “Of course Your Grace. Princess Daenaerys is  not the rightful Queen of Westeros, his grace named Lord Targaryen as his heir before he died, and as such it is my duty to fight for his right to the throne. Just as I would fight for Princess Alysanne should you wish for me to do so.”

Queen Allyria smiles slightly then as Jon’s words, and he knows that she has gotten on to the implication in his words. “I thank you for your loyal service Lord Connington. However, my daughter does not need anyone fighting for her right to the throne. I know my nephew Jon, he will continue to fight for his brother and for Alysanne for as long as possible. And if he so desires Alysanne to be queen she shall be. But for now I think you should know that a letter came to Storm’s End from Sunspear shortly after we learnt of Aegon’s death. It would appear Prince Oberyn is marching up the Boneway toward Tumbleton where Lord Ambrose and his host are currently camped.”

Jon nods and then does a double take at the Queen’s words. “How do you know where Lord Ambrose’s host is camped Your Grace?”

Queen Allyria smiles slightly and says. “A spider came and visited us whilst you were away Lord Connington”

Jon feels his jaw tighten at that, Varys the spider, most likely getting ingrated with Queen Daenaerys in an attempt to oust Littlefinger, when this is all over and done with, Jon will be having serious words with the man. He bows and takes his leave from the Queen and then makes his way down to the cells to speak with Ser Jorah Mormont, the man truly looks like a bear, all hairy and muddy, covered still in the blood of the battle. Jon looks at him for a long moment before saying. “I expected you to be riding a dragon Ser Jorah not mounted on horseback.”

The man laughs and the coughs spitting up blood. “Pah, that was a rumour that Lord Baelish sought to spread in order to make the Queen seem more balanced and in control than she actually is.”

Jon notes the bitterness in the man’s voice and says. “What happened during the battle for King’s Landing Ser Jorah, how did the King die?”

Ser Jorah coughs loudly then and then whispers. “His dragon was taken out by both Drogon and Viserion, the Queen cannot control Viserion the beast is mad, but effective. Aegon’s dragon was brought down and then before Aegon could join his dragon in the Blackwater, the Queen came down on Drogon and clutched him in the black dragon’s claws before feeding him to the beast in front of half the court in the throne room.”

Jon closes his eyes then and inhales deeply before asking his next question. “And what of Lord Victarion, Daenaerys husband? Where was he during this?”

Ser Jorah coughs once more and then says. “He was with the Iron Fleet bringing Lord Nestor and the Valemen back from White Harbour; they will be in King’s Landing by now, defending the city.”

Jon nods then, so Lord Targaryen will be free to do as he pleases and could muster the men of the north and the Riverlands for an assault on King’s Landing. “What of Daenaerys son Vickon where was he?”

Ser Jorah hesitates for a minute before saying. “In the Gates of the Moon with Lord Robert Arryn and Littlefinger when I set out for here. He will most likely be heading towards the capital now, his mother did not wish to be parted from him for long.”

Jon nods, perhaps they can get one of Varys men to intercept that ship and the boy could be used as leverage against Daenaerys. “Very well, you shall remain here for the time being and then once Your Queen is dead, you shall be brought before the rightful king for judgement.”

Ser Jorah laughs, his body shaking with the effort as he says “Daenaerys holds the Vale, and the capital now. The Reach belongs to her, how will Rhaegar’s bastard ever hold the throne my lord Connington?”

Jon does not reply all he does is storm out of the dungeons and walk back to his own chambers, where he finds Nestor and Cassana fast asleep on the bed whilst Mya sits in front of the vanity and brushes her hair. Jon walks toward her and kisses her neck and whispers to her. “You have done well my love. But I fear I must leave soon enough.”

Mya turns to him and says. “Must you my love? Truly Jon, Daenaerys has a choke hold on King’s Landing and the Vale, and she has the Iron Fleet behind her as well. How could you hope to defeat her and the host camped at Tumbleton?”

Jon sighs and says. “I know not how, all I know is that Daenaerys is not the rightful ruler of Westeros and I cannot rest until Lord Targaryen sits the throne, that is what must happen and I shall do all I can to make sure it happens.”

“Even if it means never seeing your children or me again?” Mya asks tears in her eyes, and Jon feels his heart break at that.

“It will not come to that my love. I will not let it come to that.” Jon says before he kisses his wife.

The next day, Jon and the 2,000 men who remain to him from the battles of Fawnton and the battles of Storm’s End ride forth from the gates riding through the Kingswood at a sharp pace towards Tumbleton in the hopes of catching Lord Ambrose and his men unawares. They ride through the day and the night, for roughly two weeks, the snow heavy on the ground, the stop only when the need is most dire, the weather being too cold to allow rests for too long. When they reach the outskirts of Tumbleton, they see that the battle is already under way. Men flying the banner of Aegon fight men flying the banner of Daenaerys, Jon draws his sword from its sheath and lets loose a battle cry before leading the charge into what he hopes is Lord Ambrose’s rear.

The fighting proves to be bloody, hacking and slashing, swinging his sword right and left. Men falling like flies, blood spattering his armour and his sword, blood pooling around the bodies of the dead. Steel on steel, the cries of men wounded and dying echo around the battlefield. And on and on it goes, Jon hacks right and left, taking blows to his shoulders and his legs, but still somehow managing to remain atop his horse.

He begins to tire as yet another blow is landed to his chest, this time blood pools from his mouth at the blow, but he brings the attacker down to the ground, cutting him in half. Another man steps up to take his place, and is brought down by a series of quick strokes from Jon, hacks and dodges, and parries. The battle goes on and on, more bodies litter the ground by the end, and Jon’ sword and armour are covered in blood and dirt.

Eventually the battle ends, with Lord Ambrose’s head thrown to the ground in front of Jon. Jon finds Lord Martyn Lannister bloodied but still alive, and Lord Randyll Tarly wounded but still breathing present, as well as Prince Oberyn, who seems to be grinning like a mad man. Celebrations run on late into the night that night at Tumbleton as the loyalists celebrate the defeat of one of the biggest hosts massed by men who have declared to Queen Daenaerys. Prince Oberyn though has one thing to say before they head to bed in the early hours of the morning. “Soon enough Lord Baelish will show how much of a snake he truly is. Daenaerys was always just a puppet for the man. We will need Lord Jon’s aid here to defeat the mad queen and her dragons, and even then we may not come out on top. It all depends how this dance goes this time around, but we shall have vengeance for Aegon, that much I know.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	37. Dragons, The Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dance comes towards it conclusions.

**Daenaerys**

At night she can still hear the screams and the cries of the men as they fought beneath her, as they died to win her, her birthright the Iron Throne. She remembers the embers that glittered bright before her as Drogon breathed his flames as did Viserion, the men who were not quick enough or smart enough to flea before the flames were unleashed perished, and though Daenaerys mourned on some small part the deaths of so many innocent men- not truly so innocent for they fought for the pretender- there was some part of her that did not truly mourn nor care, these men were fighting for the wrong ruler and so it was only right that they die.

The man who claimed to be her nephew, Aegon Targaryen he named himself had flown on a glorious red dragon whom her sources had reported the man had named Acteon, to face her. They fought tooth and claw the dragons, breathing jets of fire, both red and black on each other, and though Acteon may have been older and more experienced in the arts of war, Drogon was bigger and stronger and easily crushed Acteon to dust. The man who claimed to be her nephew, instead of willingly giving himself over to Drogon’s flames like any true dragon would, had attempted to dive to his death after the dragon he had wasted on trying to challenge her. Dany would not allow him to get away so easily and so had had Drogon capture the man in his claws, and then had dragged the man to the throne room of the Red Keep where her men stood and cheered her as she ordered Drogon to eat the man who had styled himself King, the man was no true dragon for he burnt easily under Drogon’s flames, his armour leaving behind the smell of cooked meat.

Dany had ascended the throne that was hers by right of birth and conquest after that to the cheering of her men, the Unsullied and the Valemen alike. The High Septon had anointed her with the seven oils on the Great Sept in front of the cheering smallfolk, and when Drogon had unleashed a jet of flame once the words had been said and vows sworn, she had truly felt fulfilled as if she had completed her destiny. There was still work to do though, Lord Stark still was a visible threat in the north, and he too had had the audacity to claim one of her dragons, to steal Rhaegal from her more like, something she would make him answer for eventually. Her only regret that the girl, Cat had been turned according to Lord Baelish’s sources, that she was now working for the Starks that was something that upset her slightly, the girl had seemed so nice and full of promise.

It mattered not though for White Harbour had fallen to Lord Nestor Royce and the 20,000 Valemen he had taken with him. Lord Wylis Manderly slain, Lord Wyman held hostage, they had a foothold in the north and Petyr promised her that they could easily take Winterfell from there, and then they could deal with Lord Stark’s brats and his wives. She had ordered Lord Nestor Royce to proceed with as much haste as possible for Winterfell then, though whether or not the raven had ever reached him she knew not, for there was no reply. Regardless another raven had been sent out some weeks after that first letter, declaring that Lord Nestor and the men under his command should return south and march for King’s Landing. She had sent word to her husband to take the Iron Fleet with the men from the Valemen and bring it straight to King’s Landing for Lord Baelish had brought her news that Lord Connington and Lords Lannister and Tarly had defeated Lord Ambrose at Tumbleton and were likely marching for King’s Landing now.

Upon hearing the news Dany had fumed and then had summoned Lord Varys to come to her rooms. The man had not appeared, and when she had sent Ser Galen and Grey Worm to find the man, they had come back to report his chambers vacant as if nary a soul had ever lived there in the first place. Dany had been furious at that and had ordered a search of all the secret passageways to see if the Spider was there, and of all the possible places where he could be. She had summoned Lord Baelish from the Gates of the Moon to assume his position of Hand of the King, and with him Petyr had brought her son Vickon, her beautiful babe with his silver hair and violet eyes. She could not bear to be parted from him for too long.

Petyr and her son had arrived some two weeks ago now, and in that time Dany had spent a great deal of time quizzing him as to where Lord Varys could be. Each time Petyr had merely replied. “Lord Varys is a cockles wonder Your Grace. Without his manly parts he has no need for the pleasures other men seek, and so my contacts in the brothels here will be of no use. Though if he is not in the secret passageways as you have suggested then he is likely fled. Unless he hides in the Great Sept itself.”

“Why would he hide in the Great Sept, and why would the High Septon accept the man?” Dany had asked surprised.

Petyr had chuckled then and said. “Because Varys knows exactly what the High Septon was before he became the High Sparrow. I would send men there Your Grace if anything Lord Varys will still be there.”

“How do you know the eunuch is not fled the city, to join Lord Connington or the pretender Lord Stark?” Dany’s husband Victarion had asked.

Peytr had chuckled once more and said. “Because if there is one thing that the eunuch thrives on it is chaos. He will want to watch and see how we handle the situation we now find ourselves in. He will still be in the city.”

Dany had nodded then and sent men out to find the man in the Great Sept of Baelor to no avail. Ser Galen had come back to report that the High Septon had admitted to housing a begging brother who had smelt very pungent who seemed awfully knowledgeable about the state of Westeros but apart from that there was nothing more he could say. Dany had grown frustrated then and had decided to put a price on the head of the eunuch any person who could bring her information as to his whereabouts or could even bring him in would receive a hefty reward. Of course that simply led to her being swamped with people bringing false reports and reports so hard to decipher that they may have been true or complete fabrications.

Eventually Dany had had to put the matter to rest, Varys would be found or he wouldn’t be, if he was found she would grill him for every piece of information she could get and then she would feed him to Drogon. For now though there was the matter of appointing members to her small council. She had of course named Lord Petyr her hand, Victarion as her consort had taken on the title of Prince Consort and Lord Protector of the Realm, Grand Maester Gormon was a Tyrell and though his family had resisted her call to arms, she had decided to give him the benefit for the doubt for the moment, if he showed any source of betraying her like his family had though, he would meet a sticky end. For master of ships she followed her husband’s judgement and named Ser Harras Harlaw and also granted him Lordship over the Shield Islands once the war was over, master of laws she named Lord Nestor Royce, master of coin Ser Symond Templeton, master of whispers was a position she gave to one of Petyr’s protégés a bastard from the Vale known as Mychel Stone. Her Kingsguard was another matter that needed some deep consideration, Ser Jorah her Lord Commander was being held prisoner in Storm’s End, something she would soon have to amend, the pretender’s Kingsguard had seen some serious losses, Ser Brynden Tully who had served as the man’s Lord Commander had been killed by Ser Jorah during the taking of the city as had Ser Garth Hightower. Ser Loras Tyrell she held hostage, and he had reluctantly bent the knee to her and had joined her Kingsguard.

The other members Ser Lyle and Ser Balon Swan were away in Storm’s End guarding the false Queen Allyria Dayne and her daughter Alysanne, they would need to be brought forth to answer for their treasons soon enough. Regardless Dany had decided to name three knights from the Vale and the Iron Islands to her Kingsguard and they were all men whom she felt she could trust with the defence of herself and her son. With that sorted there other issues to discuss as well, which was why Dany found herself in the small council chamber now in the early hours of the morning instead of in bed with her husband, though Victarion had come with her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure my lords?” Dany asked somewhat tiredly.

It was Lord Mychel Stone who spoke. “Our sources report that the host commanded by Lords Connington, Lannister, Tarly and Prince Oberyn Martell is making its way toward King’s Landing at a great pace, perhaps to link up with the host coming from the Kingsroad led by Lord Stark and Tully. What do you wish for the council to do Your Grace?”

Dany rubbed her eyes tiredly and said. “Send men to intercept the host being led by Lord Connington, attack them as forcibly as possible. I want Lord Connington and Prince Oberyn’s heads on spikes and brought to King’s Landing. Lords Lannister and Tarly are to be spared.”

“And whom would lead this attack Your Grace?” Lord Nestor asks.

“Why the Lords of the Vale, perhaps your cousin Bronze Yohn Royce would Lord Nestor.” Dany replies smiling slightly, she knows that Lord Yohn Royce does not like her, and she does not trust him.

“That would be a foolish idea Your Grace,” Ser Harras says. “Lord Yohn is of suspicious loyalties, were it not for the fact that his cousin serves on the small council he likely would have fought for the Stark boy by now. No I suggest sending someone of recognised loyalty to fight the host being assembled by Lord Connington.”

“And whom would you suggest then Ser Harras, Yourself?” Petyr asks, amusement lacing his voice.

“Perhaps the Unsullied could march forth from King’s Landing. We all know of the legends of Qohor. The host that Lords Connington, Lannister and Martell will have assembled will not be greater than 20,000 the Unsullied will be able to comfortably deal with that number.” Ser Symond says.

Dany looks at the man questioningly, she is not sure of his loyalty neither is Petyr. “Perhaps, though the Unsullied would serve as a great defence against Lord Stark and his men, especially if they were to come close to King’s Landing.” Dany says.

“Who will you send then Your Grace?” Victarion asks, his eyes showing his impatience.

“Lord Nestor.” Is all she says. When the man looks up at her in surprise. “You took White Harbour and would have taken Winterfell had it not been for my summons. You shall lead 20,000 men toward Tumbleton to deal with the host being massed there, and you shall win.”

Lord Nestor bows his head and simply says. “Yes Your Grace.”

That sorted the attention turns to the Riverlands. “How far are Lord Stark and Lord Tully’s hosts from coming to King’s Landing and Harrenhal?”

Lord Mychel speaks. “Perhaps some five days from Harrenhal, Ser Garth has been notified to strengthen his defences and prepare for an attack.”

Dany nods and then says. “I will not sit here and wait for the usurper to try and usurp my throne. I shall needs go and meet him out in the field with fire and steel. Ser Symond the men under Lord Yohn’s control are now under yours we shall be marching in two days time, I shall be  leaving the Unsullied here, and my husband and the Ironborn under his control will be a day’s march behind us.”

“Are you sure that is wise Your Grace?” Ser Harras asks.

Dany looks at him and says. “I am the Queen, it is time I defended what is mine by rights. I will not have others die for me, whilst I sit behind stone walls and cower like a scared girl.” Her voice declares the matter over and council breaks for perhaps what could be the last time. As she walks back to her chambers Victarion whispers to her. “I shall not be a day’s march behind you, if you are to march then I shall march with you, I shall bring as many of my men that I can, Ser Harras shall remain to guard Vickon along with several other of my most trusted men.”

Dany merely nods and says nothing. Three days later, she has kissed her son goodbye though he is too young to truly understand what is happening, she kisses her husband goodbye and then mounts Drogon for what could potentially be the final battle of this war, heading towards the Trident the scene of her brother’s death, it will be the scene of her greatest victory.


	38. There Can Only Be One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the final chapter.CHeers to all who have read and reviewed, means alot. Please leave your thoughts :)

**Jon Targaryen**

Riverrun was certainly much warmer than Winterfell that much Jon knew. In some respects he was grateful for the warmer climate; it certainly made it easier for him to think and for him and his men to survive for now.  Victory at the Red Fork had come at a cost though, Ser Garth Greenfield one of Lord Martyn Lannister’s bannermen had turned traitor and had gone raiding around the Riverlands, Lord Edmure had decided to take the challenge himself and had led a score of men out to deal with Ser Greenfield, Edmure was now a prisoner in Harrenhal, and Jon felt continued anger everytime that fact was brought up by one the man’s bannermen. Jon had argued that he would go and deal with Ser Greenfield; let them see how confident the man felt when he was faced with a dragon, but alas all of them had argued against him going out to the front, saying it was too dangerous.

Even Arya, his little spitfire of a cousin who against his orders had come south, sneaking in with the baggage train had argued against him going out to face Ser Garth. Jon knew her reasons though, she had only just recovered from being a faceless man and though he was angry with her for leaving the safety of Winterfell, in some regards he could understand why she had done it. The need to gain revenge over those who had wronged their family greater than the desire for her own safety. That did not mean that Jon approved though, and on more than one occasion he had been desperate to send her home. The only thing that had swayed him was that Arya had said she knew how to break in and free Edmure. “I served there for a time during the war of the kings Jon.” Arya had said her tone pleading. “I know ways in and out of the castle that Ser Garth will not. Ways of serving girls and boys, whom no one looks at.”

Jon had looked at her then and had simply said. “Go but in disguise, kill Ser Garth and the guards who guard Edmure’s cell no more than that. They are not our enemy Arya.” She had nodded and then donned a face, the face of a serving girl, and Jon had been left stunned by the transformation though he knew that she was still Arya, he had made a mental note to speak with her once this was all done, and ask her what exactly had happened to her since King’s Landing all those years ago, though now was not the time. She disappeared and seemingly proved her worth, for soon enough Lord Edmure was riding through the gates of Riverrun and back into the castle, reporting Ser Garth dead as well as some of the garrison there. Jon had not seen Arya and had begun to panic, it was only then that amongst Edmure’s escort he had seen a begging girl with dark grey eyes and he had known whom she was. “I told you not to kill anyone but Ser Garth and Edmure’s guards little wolf.” Jon had chastised her then.

She had grimaced at the nickname he had given her and said. “It was not me who did it. It was Nymeria.” Jon had looked at her then. “She’s been with me since I arrived in the Riverlands Jon. She found me and I found her, and now we’re working together again.” She had sounded as if she might cry then, Jon had forgotten that Arya had been separated from her wolf all those years ago because the king was too much of a coward to stand up to the Lannisters.

“Bring her in then Arya. She won’t leave your side again.” Jon had said then. And the two of them had walked into the castle, though Jon was still slightly uncomfortable with how unremorseful his cousin seemed with the deaths she had dealt, he had to admit she was very clever when it came to tactics. She gave them what she could remember of Daenaerys’ troops and allies, the Unsullied would be her greatest weapon and would be used sparingly, those soldiers who did not feel as men felt, could withstand almost anything thrown at them. The Vale Lords did not like Daenaerys, viewed her as mad as her father, but would fight for her, for the safety of their boy lord Robert Arryn. And lastly Daenaerys husband was as strong a warrior as any Arya told them, though not very smart, he would stay with Daenaerys through thick and thin.

It was in Riverrun that they learnt of the troops under Nestor Royce leaving White Harbour, and soon enough they learnt why. The Battle of King’s Landing, where Jon’s brother Aegon had died, had been a bloody battle, Arya and Sansa’s great uncle Ser Brynden Tully of the Kingsguard had been slain as had many thousands of soldiers. But with Aegon’s death, Jon had become king. Suddenly all their plans changed, more importance was placed on making sure that he was protected when they rode for battle, Jon argued against wasting resources stating. “I will be on dragonback my lords; I need no more protection than that. Daenaerys will not want anyone else to engage in combat with me.”

“But that is what she will be counting on Your Grace.” Lord Rickard Karstark had argued. Oh how Jon hated the title though. “She will be counting on your noble intentions and she will use them against you. Already we know she has sent men off to deal with Lords Connington, Lannister and Martell. It will not be long before she marches from the capital and when she does, she will bring her Unsullied and her two dragons with her.”

“And what would you suggest I do Lord Karstark? Hide behind my men like a little child? No I will go out and fight Daenaerys and her two dragons, and I will keep fighting till one of us is dead.” Jon had said heatedly.

“What of Alys and Sansa and your children Your Grace? What of them? You are no good to them dead.” Arya had said softly.

Jon looked at her then and said. “What would you have me do Arya?”

His cousin had looked at him then and in a cold voice she had said. “You know what I can do Jon, why not use that power for once? I can infiltrate enemy lines and remove those commanders who would pose a threat to you and make it easier for you and our troops to win.”

Jon had hesitated then not sure whether to accept or not. Lord Umber had said. “It makes sense Your Grace. Send Lady Arya out to kill Lords Royce, Greyjoy and Harlaw and we have as good as won the battle. They won’t even suspect a thing, at least not the mad Queen.”

Jon had wavered and Lord Rickard had spoken then. “It would lessen the blood on your hands Your Grace.”

Finally Jon had sighed and said. “Very well but only Lord Greyjoy and Corbray are to be killed. The Royces can and will be brought round to our cause.” And so later that night he had sent Arya off dressed as a serving girl to where the enemy host was being camped near Harrenhal, but before she had left he had given her strict instructions. “No revenge killings Arya. Just Lord Greyjoy and Corbray and then wait for us.”

“Of course stupid. I’m not stupid.” Arya had said before she had hugged him tightly and then disappeared into the night.

They spent the next two weeks planning for the battle to come, and Jon often found himself gazing off during the council meetings, there was so much to do, to plan, even if they lost and his body was left to rot in the Trident there would be much for his men to do. One such issue, the most important issue as far as Jon was concerned was the safety of his wives and children. The night before they were due to march for the Trident he summoned Lord Karstark and Ser Arthur to his room and said to them. “If I should die during the battle, I want you both to lead the men to a retreat, get to Moat Cailin and seal it off. Howland Reed will assist you. Protect Alys, Sansa and the children with your lives my lords. There are enough supplies for the north to hold out until Spring comes. When it does, call a meeting of the bannermen, the north shall be independent should I die on the Trident. The Mad Queen will never have the north. Make sure my sons grow up to be wise and honourable men. Do this for me, and I shall forever be in you gratitude.”

“We will Your Grace.” Both men said in unison. Though Ser Arthur said. “You will not die Your Grace. You are much like your father, but this time the cause is just and true.”

Jon merely nodded at the man whom he had grown up thinking of as his uncle and dismissed them, leaving himself to his thoughts. Then the morning had come, and now he was mounted on Rhaegal getting ready to jet off for the final battle of this war. He was dressed in dark blue armour, Winter’s Fury strapped to his back, and he had one last message to give his troops before he marched off for the trident. “We have fought in many battles you and I. We have fought against Wildlings and traitors, and we have looked death in the eye and we have fought it and won. Today we fight, not for survival, but to make sure that the madness that has so often cost Westeros and her people does not return to haunt us. Today we fight to liberate ourselves from the darkness that a mad Queen and her mockingbird of a councillor would put upon us. Today we fight for the chance, to look our wives and children, our mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters in the eye and tell them, we may not be the greatest of men to have ever walked this earth, we may be flawed and we may be damned. But we fight for our freedom, and Daenaerys Targaryen will never, never, be able to take that away from us!” With that he raised his sword into the air and roared as one with Rhaegal, his men cheered and roared and beat their drums, and soon enough they were on the march.

The battle itself was chaotic. 15,000 men fought for Jon, 30,000 fought for Daenaerys Targaryen by rights Jon’s men should have been slaughtered, but as he flew high in the air looking for either Daenaerys and her dragon or the wild untamed dragon she had named for her mad brother, Jon noted that his men seemed to be fighting harder and winning more often than not. It seemed Daenaerys Targaryen did not inspire confidence in her men. He heard a roar from somewhere in the distance and soon enough saw a black ball hurtling toward him, bracing himself and Rhaegal for the impact he drew Winter’s Fury.

Drogon, the black dragon his aunt rode, crashed straight into Rhaegal and soon enough the two dragons bronze and black were fighting tooth and claw. Scratches and screeching at each other, tooth and claw, they fought, breaking up only to smash back into one another once more. The fighting went on and on, for so long that Jon felt the blood begin to flood to his face, still they fought and at one point Rhaegal seemed to have the upper hand, the she dragon managed to rip off some of Drogon’s scales, causing the black dragon to roar in fury. Rhaegal flew away from Drogon then leading him on a goose chase. Jon kept an eye for Viserion trying to make sure the white dragon was not lurking somewhere.

The dragons smashed into one another once again, tooth and claw, fire and flame being unleashed. All the while Jon strained in his saddle to get closer to his aunt, to end this fight once and for all and yet Rhaegal continued to move away from Drogon leading to Jon often times having to hold on for dear life. Rhaegal then dived under Drogon, the she dragon breathing flame on her brother’s belly, causing Drogon to bellow in anger. A bellow that was answered by a screech that came not from Rhaegal but from a white dragon, a sound that cause Jon’s heart to begin to plummet. And yet Viserion did not come hurtling toward Rhaegal instead, from the heat Jon felt, it seemed as if Viserion was breathing flames onto Drogon and Daenaerys.

Drogon roared then and swatted Viserion away with his tail before moving away from where Rhaegal had continued to breathe flames upon him. Jon drew his sword then as Drogon’s tail came above him, and leaning upward slashed his sword upward managing to cut it a bit, drawing a furious roar from Drogon, and causing the massive black dragon to turn around and come hurtling toward Rhaegal once more. This time though when Drogon smashed into Rhaegal, Viserion attacked Drogon from the top, and the three dragons continued to fight tooth and claw hurtling towards the banks of the Trident at an alarming speed.  So much so that when the actual water became more visible, Jon became more and more worried that he was going to be crushed by the weight of his dragon, and so hurriedly undid his stirrups, no mean feat at the speed the dragons were going, and throwing Winter’s Fury toward Drogon, he shook his legs free and jumped down toward the ground, rolling up in a ball to lessen the painful impact of landing, just short of the water. A few seconds later there was a large splash and a terrifying roar as the dragons crashed into the water. Later Jon will learn that Rhaegal and Viserion managed to avoid crashing into the water, rearing up at the last possible moment, whilst Drogon due to his greater size and bulk crashed straight in and drowned due to the momentum he had picked up.

Jon stayed in his ball for a moment more, waiting for some enemy to come up and capture him, when none did; he unrolled and felt the pain and sting of the impact and the battle. He briefly looked at the burns and wounds on his armour before he passed out from exhaustion. When he came to, he was in a dark tent, his tent the realisation slowly came to him, and there were four men looking at him, one he recognised as his goodfather by his long beard, the others were harder to recognise in the darkness. “W-what happened?” he stammered.

 All four men made their way to stand around the bed. Lord Rickard spoke then, his voice gruff. “We won Your Grace. The rebels lost heart when they saw the dragons crash into the water.”

“Daenaerys....” he manages to mumble weakly.

“Dead Your Grace. She was not quick enough to remove herself from her black monstrosity. She was sunk by the weight of the dragon when he crashed into the water and began to sink.” Lord Rickard went on.

Jon managed to nod slightly. Before he asked one last important question. “What happened at Tumbleton?”

It was Ser Arthur who spoke then. “ A victory Your Grace. Lord Nestor was slain, as was Lord Greyjoy. Lord Connington and Lannister have marched on King’s Landing to secure it for you.”

Jon nods and then weakly says. “Go my lords, go to King’s Landing and make sure nothing l-l-l-like the sack happens.”

The lords nod in the affirmative and leave the tent. Jon is left alone in his tent then, to sleep and dream of Alys and Sansa and their children, a peaceful dream for now. It is only when he arrives in King’s Landing riding on the back of Rhaegal who managed to survive the Trident if only, her brother Viserion left in camp on the Trident some six weeks after the battle and finds the city cheering him as he enters, that he feels the true weight of grieve hitting him. The loss of a brother he barely knew as well as the aunt that he killed, hit him hard, and though he hardly knew them, it still stings to know that he has lost so much family once again because of war.

He is greeted by Lord Karstark, Ser Arthur and Lord Connington, on the steps of the Red Keep. Lord Lannister having been injured during the taking of the city. He greets them all and thanks them for their efforts in “Seeing the rightful King restored to power.” And looks at the Red Keep, the place that will become his home for the next however many years the gods see fit to give him. It is only after a feast has been held, or three during the first week he is here that he begins to ask questions of how the city was taken. It is Lord Martyn Lannister now fully recovered from his injury who tells him. “They fought hard those unsullied did. They gave us not a quarter even though they knew Daenaerys was dead, it seems their commander wished to install Vickon Greyjoy as king. We managed to defeat them though, and we have hold of the Greyjoy boy.”

Jon nodded, wincing slightly at the pain in his neck at the gesture. “Vickon Greyjoy is the rightful Lord of the Iron Islands, in time he will have that title, but for now he shall remain as a ward to make sure none think to rebel in his name.”

Lord Varys speaks then. “That is good Your Grace, but whom will you name to your small council?”

Jon looks around the table, at the lords who have gathered in what is the small council chamber, and thinks for a long moment. He looks at Jon Connington who was his brother’s hand of the king, but did not wish for him to be named heir. “I will name Lord Rickard Karstark as hand of the king.” A good man, and someone who would make a good hand Jon thinks, he sees Ser Arthur nod in approval as well as Lords Umber, Ryswell and Lord Edmure. “Lord Connington has fought honourably and bravely for our cause. I would have him named as master of laws for this service. Lord Martyn Lannister I would see named as Master of Coin.” The man’s cousin Daven died during the battle for King’s Landing, killed by dragon fire. “I would name Ser Arthur Dayne the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard.” An obvious choice and one that he feels dignified in making. “As Master of ships I would name Lord Redwyne.” Though the man is somewhere dealing with the burning of the Iron Fleet right now, he will make a good master of ships. “Master of Whispers, of course Lord Varys you shall retain that position, and Maester Gormon shall remain as Grand Maester.”

Those appointments are confirmed and then three moons later once the dust has settled and Jon has had a chance to meet all the various Lord Paramounts apart from Lord Robert Arryn who resides in the Gates of the Moon dying according to Lord Varys, Jon is coronated as King Jon Targaryen, the first of his name King of Westeros. When the council brought up perhaps naming himself after a Targaryen Jon looked at them all and said. “I was named for a man who valued honour as highly as duty and family. I was named by Lord Eddard Stark, and this is the only name I have or will ever have.” That silenced the council and it seems that the High Septon had no problems with this, when he placed a newly formed crown which contained the seven blades of the seven kingdoms done in a bronze crown with the bronze dragon figure head on the top upon his head, and the crowd cheered and Rhaegal roared. It is then that Jon begins to think of rebuilding the Dragonpit in King’s Landing and as such he summons the small council to discuss the merits of such a thing.

“It would be costly Your Grace,” Lord Martyn said. “The Dragonpit has not been used for over 150 years now, and has fallen into a state of disrepair.”

“Aye, but where else will his grace house those dragons of his.” Lord Karstark as good a hand as any man could ask for.

“Perhaps on Dragonstone. In the days of old, the Targaryen dragons would reside on the Dragonmont and make their lair there. It would certainly be a much more friendly place for them to live and it would lessen the chance of another even such as the Storming of the Dragonpit from happening.” Lord Varys says.

Jon nods at that and says. “Lord Martyn I want enough coin set aside for a building of a structure on the Dragonmont that can house the dragons and make them comfortable but not a hindrance or a threat to the people of the island. I also want the Dragonpit restored to a state that it can be habitable for Rhaegal and Viserion whilst they wait for Dragonstone to be restored.”

Lord Martyn nodded and then Lord Rickard brought up the other pressing issue. “What should be done of Lord Baelish Your Grace?” Lord Petyr Baelish, the reason the war between the Starks and Lannisters had started, the reason why the Vale had fought and died for Daenaerys Targaryen, the reason little Robert Arryn was dying, the man had been caught trying to flee King’s Landing a few days after the city had been taken, he had been rotting in a black cell ever since.

Jon sighed. “We have gotten all the information we are likely to get from him. He has confessed to every single crime laid at his feet with a non biased witness there to hear the confession. We do not need his head profaning the spikes of Traitors Walk, he shall be fed to Rhaegal.”

The deed is done the next morn, Rhaegal and Viserion reside now in the Kingswood, and they fight over Littlefinger’s body, tearing it apart as the man dies screaming for mercy, for Cat. Jon rides away as he listens to the sounds of the two dragons feasting. Rhaegal and Viserion were severly injured during the battle of the Trident, though they survived due to being smaller than Drogon and therefore less likely to sink, plus it seems as if their will to survive was greater. Regardless it took them a good three moons to fully recover, three moons.

As Jon enters the Red Keep he summons Maester Gormon and tells him. “Write to Winterfell tell my wives and mother that I wish for them to come to the capital. The time is right, Spring is on the horizon.” Maester Gormon nods and the raven is sent that night, a moon later Alys, Sansa, Jon’s mother, and the children, Rickard, Torrhen and Aemon arrive along with Ghost, and Jon smiles and embraces them all kissing both Alys and Sansa square on the lips. That night once the children have been put to sleep and the three of them are sitting in Jon’s room, his wives on his laps, Jon whispers into their hair. “We shall bring peace to Westeros, I know we can. We no longer need to dream for spring, for it is here. Now that you are here with me.” He truly believes that, he needs to believe that otherwise the grief and guilt will want him to the end of his days.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Different Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144747) by [Ser_Vince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Vince/pseuds/Ser_Vince)




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